


The Crooked Kind (Or How Strife Got His Groove Back)

by pikeisaman



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Fanon, Greek God Incest, It's hard being a single parent in such a crazy mixed up pantheon, M/M, Magical Impotence, Uncle Abandonment Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikeisaman/pseuds/pikeisaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Strife died and that really sucked. Now he's alive, but life kind of sucks too. Hopefully it'll get better (but knowing Strife's luck probably not). </p><p>Cupid rescued Strife from the underworld, but now they have to deal with the fact that no one was exactly sad to see him go in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crooked Kind (Or How Strife Got His Groove Back)

**Author's Note:**

> AO3 is being really glitchy, so if the formatting is messed up, that's why. 
> 
> Forever ago I spent weeks on this fic, then was too chickenshit to post it. WELL I'M POSTING IT NOW.

Death wasn’t so bad, Strife thought to himself, poking idly at the ground. It hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t like a knife to the stomach was the worst injury he had ever gotten. Uncle Ares had done worse than that to him on occasion, but if he was lucky, he would do it to Callisto this time. She was crafty, but Ares didn’t just let people take his shit without a damn bloody fight. They didn’t call him the God of War for nothing after all.

Also there was the matter of his poor nephew Strife. His favorite, his second in command, the only one who could grovel properly, and the one who took the fall any time one of his crazy ‘get Hercules/get Xena/get that guy who looked at me funny’ schemes failed spectacularly. Uncle must be missing him by now.

Strife sniffed, and it echoed through the dark caverns of the underworld. Someone would come get him eventually. He might just be a minor God, but the pantheon needed him. God of Mischief was a thankless fucking job but someone had to do it, and everyone fucking knew that Discord wasn’t up to it. She didn’t have the subtle touch that ol’ Strife did. 

Finding a nice only slightly damp rock to sit on and drumming his fingers on his legs, Strife decided to sit back and enjoy his little rest. Soon he’d be back up in Olympia, and maybe even Unc would feel sorry for essentially getting him killed and give him some nice juicy conflict to run. He could watch Discord’s face turn bright red from his spot at Uncle’s side. Yeah, that’d be great.

Time was impossible to keep track of, wherever he was.

Even still, he knew he was there a lot fucking longer than he should have been.

Some days he would go insane. Just for a little bit, just a few days off his rocker. He’d talk to the rocks that were shaped like Discord’s fat head; he’d twirl in circles while screaming at the top of his lungs until the echoes bouncing off the cave walls deafened him. At one point he even tried bashing his own head in just for fun. Just to see what would happen when a dead god smashed a rock upside his head for a few hours (nothing, as it turned out). 

Other times he would just sit until he wasn’t sure he could even move his limbs ever again. Sit and wonder how the House of War was doing without their baby Strife. He couldn’t say he missed the bastards, but he came pretty damn close. It wasn’t like he had anyone else to miss.

Eventually the appeal of all of that faded, and he spent his time curled up in a fetal position, trying his best not to think.

In the end it wasn’t Ares who came looking for him, or Discord, or anyone else from War.

“Yo, cuz.”

Strife looked up so fast that he actually fell backwards off his perch. Cupid cocked an eyebrow at him, his arms crossed with mild irritation, as if he had caught Strife with his hand in the cookie jar rather than being trapped in the Underworld for all eternity. Scrambling to his feet, Strife tried to look casual-it had been so long down there in the dark cold he had forgotten what casual was, so in the end he just looked stiff and awkward. Casual was not curling up in a miserable ball for weeks on end. (Or was it days. Or was it years.)

He looked his cousin over. He wasn’t really sure what for, Cupid looked exactly the same. He had the same bottle blonde hair; with his locks falling oh so casually onto his face, the same stupid tattoo armband, same weird leather skirt thing, and the same look of irritation in his hazel eyes that he had whenever Strife came round.

“How’s it hanging, Cupe.” Strife choked out eventually. That’s what people did, right, they talked?

“Not bad,” Cupid shrugged, “Busy. How’s death?”

It took Strife a moment to process the question. “How the fuck do you think it is, cuz?”

Throwing his hands up towards the stalactites, then down to the stalagmites, and then all around so that Cupid could really get the whole ‘the Underworld fucking blows’ effect, Strife sneered. His cousin looked unimpressed with his theatrics, as per usual. It was so frighteningly normal that for a moment he wondered if time on Olympus had passed at all.

Cupid huffed and unfurled his wings decisively, “Well if you’re going to be a dick, I’ll head out.”

“No, wait!” Strife’s hand was around Cupid’s buff forearm before he could help himself, and judging from the look on Cupid’s face, it wasn’t entirely welcome.  Trying to play it off as deliberate, he let go of Cupid and shrugged. “I mean, uh, stay a while. How’s the fam? How’s your brat? How’s our darling stepsister-dead I hope?”

Cupid frowned and a few feathers flew off as he snapped his wings shut with a snap. “Family is awful, just like always. Bliss is fine, like always. Callisto is dead, again. Hopefully forever this time, although chances are if you’re wandering around down here, she is too somewhere.”

The idea that he could have run into a dead and probably seriously pissed Callisto at some point during his Limbo made Strife’s blood run colder than it ever had once he died. He hunched over a little and looked around. It would be exactly like her to strike once he had a chance of maybe getting out of here.

“I doubt she’s close,” Cupid added hastily at Strife’s sudden paranoia, “It took me ages just to find you, this place is huge.”

“Yeah well let’s not tempt the Fates.” Strife moved in close to Cupid, close enough to notice that even though he always made fun of Cupe’s sense of style before, it was nice to have a nice chest to look at after all this time. It was a bit like showing off a feast to a starving man. Which Strife had done many many times, he knew all about it. It was exactly like that.

Cupid just gave him another one of those looks, and man he must have been saving them all up for this day. In fact he gave Strife a whole once over, eyes lingering on everything from his deathly white face (although Strife was convinced that he was tanner now than he ever had been alive) to his dirt encrusted hands and feet. He seemed, well, a little taken aback. What, had he expected Strife to maintain personal hygiene in the afterlife?

After a long and uncomfortable inspection, Cupid finally shook himself and snapped his fingers, tossing a good juicy chunk of ambrosia over Strife’s way. Strife caught it with clumsy fingers, still unaccustomed to doing anything besides bashing his skull in. Turning it over in his hands and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was actually leaving once and for all, he looked incredulously at Cupid.

“That’s it?”

Cupid gave a wing flutter, like the bird equivalent of a shrug. It looked stupid as hell and Strife made a note to make fun of him in the next millennia when he was less grateful. “That’s it.”

It felt like his face muscles were cracking from the grin that crossed his face. “Say no more, cuz.”

Throwing the ambrosia up into the air and catching it in his mouth flawlessly, Strife swallowed the whole thing in one gulp. Fuck chewing, fuck everything. Fuck rocks, fuck damp stalactites or mites or whatever. Fuck it, he was going home.

Feeling the old familiar godhood coursing through his veins, Strife let out a roar of victory (that sounded an awful lot like a six year old girl’s shriek of excitement) and did a little dance in place. Taking aim at an especially hated rock he let out a little blast of energy and watched the rock crumble into nothing. Nice.  

Cupid rolled his eyes at Strife’s maturity, “Trust you to immediately destroy something.”

“That’s the name of the game Cupes,” Strife said happily, “I could just kiss you, you big beautiful seagull.”

Cupid looked a little affronted at that and from the way his wings ruffled, Strife could tell the seagull comment that really stuck in his throat. The House of Love could be so vain sometimes it took his breath away. With a low chuckle, he started tossing a ball of energy back and forth between his hands, getting used to the feeling of, well, feeling anything. The ball singed his fingers when he left it resting in his hand a second too late, and he let it. Feeling anything was a pleasure now as far as he was concerned.

Skilfully spinning the ball on his forefinger, he turned back to his cousin. “Lemme guess why you’re here, Uncle had a big war on, and he desperately needed his right hand man?”

Strife wasn’t stupid. It didn’t escape his attention the way that Cupid’s body immediately tensed up for a second before he purposely relaxed his shoulders. Whatever reason he was getting out, Ares clearly had nothing to do with it. He dropped the ball to the ground where it exploded, kicking up dust. 

“Strife,” Cupid started, but Strife wasn’t having it, not fucking having it at all.

“You have gotta be kidding me,” he hissed fiercely. “Did he even notice I was gone? I know I wasn’t exactly the most well-loved God up there, and I know my ‘delusions of grandeur’ got on his last nerves but-but. I’m his nephew.”

“If it’s any consideration,” Cupid offered uselessly, “Iolaus is going around telling everyone that he stroked your head as you died.”

The laugh that Strife let out would have disturbed him, even before he died. “Oh that’s rich. Won’t even help raise a fellow God back from the dead but now Jerkules and his bimbo think he has a soft spot? Serves him right, I hope Herc tries to talk to him about his ‘feelings’.”

 “Things have been kinda crazy up in heaven, there was Callisto and that Hope chick. He’s been busy. Time doesn’t even run the same between here and Olympus. We didn’t even know what happens to a God after they die; I spent months flying around looking for you. ”

“Don’t bother cuz, I know why Unc didn’t come looking for me. No one needs me up there, do they?” 

It said a lot about how ashamed Cupid was on behalf of the family that he had even attempted to excuse Ares’ decision. Traditionally he had not been his father’s staunchest support in the past, saying he couldn’t stand the ‘arrogant and overbearing jackass’. So when Cupid looked embarrassed, and his shoulders fell, Strife knew the score.

 “Oh, that’s just _great_ ,” Strife fumed, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice, “Why don’t I just off myself again then? Why’d you even bother coming down here?”

“They don’t need you,” Cupid clarified, and with a very serious look on his face he turned Strife around by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. “I do.”

The noise that escaped Strife was more of a squeak than anything else. “Eh?”

Sighing, Cupid ran a hand through his blonde locks. “I need your help, Strife. Things are getting out of control at work. Do you know how much effort it takes, bringing soulmates together? You can’t just whip out an arrow and let it fly; you have to stalk them for weeks before and after. Almost anything can separate a matched pair if you’re not careful. Parents, friends, exs, kings, _wars_ ,” he added the last one ruefully with a glance in Strife’s bewildered direction.

“I just don’t have that type of time anymore. I’m a single parent now-oh yeah, Psyche and I broke up by the way, it was a mutual thing.”

“Is that what they call it these days,” Strife muttered under his breath.

Cupid glared at him but Strife had met the woman. Uncomfortably aware didn’t even begin to cut it. One time she had cornered Strife and asked him to see her if he ever wanted to work on what she called his ‘addiction to negative attention’. She probably worked out that they weren’t compatible after Cupid sneezed the wrong way.

“Anyway, my kid is making noise about how he never gets to see me. I can’t keep a single destined couple together for more than two weeks without some shitfest breaking them up and I got at least 6 heroes that need to be conceived by the next year and we’re already up to June. I’m at the end of my rope here.”

“So you,” Strife made a circle motion with his hands, “…want me to babysit your kid?”

“NO, I just.” Cupid huffed and his wingers did another irritated flutter. “I need a partner. Someone who can maybe see the chaos coming and advert it, and can maybe use a little mischief to push couples together sooner. Nothing gets a couple together faster than the old clichés. Kidnappings, accidental kisses, sports riots.”

 “You want me to play matchmaker with the House of Love?” Strife’s tone of disgust was immediate. The whole concept was insane. You didn’t just switch houses or play for the other team. Especially not when the team’s colors were pastels and rosy pink.

“Basically,” Cupid said with a shrug. “It’s not like you'd be doing anything you don’t do already. Start a little fight here and there; manage a little affair or two so that a few of my humans can get out of their former commitments.”

“You’re talking nuts, cuz. I like watching couples go at each other with sharp things, not reading their vows.”

Cupid’s jawline twitched and it was remarkably similar to Ares. “I went to dad about this. He said I have you if I could find you.”

And didn’t that just sting like a bitch. “Hey I’m not some dumb blonde you can get to follow you around; I got a godhood of my own y’know.”

“Look,” Cupid’s voice softened. “Just try it out. If you don’t like it, you can go back to dad, and we’ll call it even. You won’t owe me anything. ”

Strife thought it over. It would be nice to not be groveling to his cousin for the next 1,000 years. Not to mention getting back to causing a little mayhem. Maybe he could work this whole deal to his advantage, kill some important people and get back on Unc’s good side. Or bad, bad side worked too.

“Alright then cuz,” he said with a wicked grin, “Deal.”

Cupid gave him a tentative smile and an almost affectionate shoulder pat that made him feel uncomfortably warm. “Thanks dude, you won’t regret this.”

With that, he disappeared in a flash of light, back up to Olympus. With a deep breath and a muttered, “yea, right” Strife followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow when Strife agreed to this deal, he hadn’t expected all the little things that went along with it. For example, when he followed Cupid back to Olympus (ah yes the old stench of orgies and egos) he hadn’t expected to be lead to Cupe’s pad. Cupid visibly relaxed once they crossed the threshold, throwing his gear onto a sensibly sturdy table. 

Ares had never bothered with comfort, preferring to make his minions stand or lounge at his feet-it was all very warlord. Aphrodite went absolutely nuts with the decorations, she had all the garish luxury a person could fit into a room, and absolutely everything was a variation on pink.  Before he had snuck in (stealing potions, naturally) he didn’t realize a person could have that many portraits of themselves.

Cupid's tastes strewed a different path from his parents thank Zeus. His place was all official white marble, with gold trimmings and blue accents here and there. He had real furniture, but it wasn’t covered in exotic furs or boasting jewelry encrusted hearts. They were just chairs, simple white chairs that looked as if they had been made by mortals.

It was all very domesticated, and very bright, bright enough to make Strife squint and cover his eyes until they adjusted. Even before he died, he hadn’t been too big on the light. Ares’ temple was lit mostly by torches, even during the day. Strife was pretty sure if it wasn’t for the whole god thing his pasty skin would burn the second he walked outside.

“Nice, uh, pile of throw pillows.” He muttered, prodding one with his boot.

Cupid rolled his eyes. “Those are for Bliss. I have chairs for adults.”

 Slumping into the pile, Strife couldn’t help but giggle. “I dunno Cupes, I hear these are all the rage in the East. You could start a trend.”

Crossing the room to where there was a rather impressive display of weapons (turns out Cupid was Ares’ kid after all), Cupid just snorted at Strife’s sarcasm and started inspecting the arrows. Carefully he reached out and touched a spot between the arrows that was conspicuously empty.

“Aw hell,” he sighed before turning around and calling out, “BLISS.”

No response.

“BLISS,” Cupid bellowed before stomping out of the room. “DON’T MAKE ME COME FIND YOU,”

The second he left, with a flutter of tiny wings and a spark of happiness that made Strife sneeze, Bliss appeared in mid-air, giggling. Clutched in one baby chubby fist was a golden arrow. He stared at Stife. Waved. Strife made his best gross face back, and the kid didn’t even blink, just stuck his tongue out back before fluttering over to the weapon collection and snagging a bow off the wall.

Content to watch this play out, Strife watched as Cupid reemerged next to the kid with a sudden pop and tackled him to the ground. Completely unalarmed, Bliss screamed with joy and hugged his father around the neck. There was enough love in that room to make Strife sneeze again, and rub at his nose. Love energy always played havoc with his sinuses.

Jumping spryly to his feet and with his hands on his hips in the universal ‘you’re in trouble now son’ pose, Cupid glared disapprovingly at his son. Or at least tried to. It was pretty weak as far as glares went. Strife knew these things; he had been on the receiving end of the best.

“We’ve talked about this kiddo.” Cupid’s voice vibrated with amusement. He really was shit at being the disciplinary.

Bliss giggled again. The look on his face was mischievous enough to snag Strife’s attention from his dodgy sinuses. He looked over at the exasperated father with raised eyebrows.

“You sure this is your kid?” He asked, pleasantly impressed. He had heard about the kid ‘round the fountain, but somehow couldn’t imagine that any spawn of Love would be that interesting. He knew Bliss would be cute, sure, but all the Love kids were, and unless he was trying to escape a beating Strife didn’t place much stock in cute.

Snatching the arrow out of his son’s hand, Cupid sighed heavily. “Yes, I’m sure. He took after dad more than we expected.”

The image of Ares with a pair of tiny wings, floating over the plebs and shooting heart shaped arrows at them danced through Strife’s over active imagination. He could help it even if he tried. Howling with laughter, he collapsed backwards into the pile of pillows. It was worth inhaling a lung’s worth of Aphrodite’s perfume for that.

Next thing Strife knew Bliss was dive bombing him, giggling like crazy. In the chaos of tiny limbs and shrieks of joy right next to his ear, grubby little hands reached for his studs and got smacked away with a cackle. The kid had good taste, but unless Strife wanted to find his shit disappearing for the next 100 years, he had to kick that in the butt ASAP.

“You’re a little sneak, aintcha,” Strife commented, flicking Bliss’s nose.

“NO,” Bliss shouted joyfully, clapping his hands together; Strife’s favorite earring dangled in between them.

The room echoed with the sounds of Bliss, Cupid and even his own pretty unsettling laughter. It was surprising to find that he wasn’t immediately disgusted by the kid, like he normally was with children. It must be all that time alone, getting him wacky. He scooted away from Bliss a little, more as a defense against the little pickpocket than because he actually wanted the space. Let him keep the earring if he wanted. He’d just steal it back later.

“Well,” Cupid said in a frighteningly responsible voice, “I think it’s time that certain godlings went and took a nap.”

Bliss made a face, and Strife was instantly reminded of Ares when he didn’t get his way. He only barely resisted the urge to duck and cover. Unaware of his effect, Bliss ruffled his wings and trudged his way out of the room at a snail’s pace. Turning around at the door, he waved a fist at Strife, and Strife could see not just his earring but at least six pins in it. Sticking his tongue out at the kid, he didn’t mention it. Maybe the kid would eat them or something and have a stomach ache for the rest of the week. That’d teach him not to mess with cousin Strife.

He never pretended to be a good influence!

After the kid left, Cupid turned his attention back to Strife, looking amused at his ungraceful sprawl in the throw pillows pen. “Sorry about him. He’s getting to that age where he’s impossible to handle.”

Strife shook his head, fondly remembering all his childhood pranks. Hell some of them had been just before he died. Really he had never outgrown his childhood phase, it sort of came with the job.

“He’s good. I would’ve liked to hang with him when I was his age.”

Not that he had really had had friends back then. The only other kid close to his age had been Cupid, who was primarily raised by his mother and didn’t come around that often. Strife had spent his childhood stuck to Ares’ side, learning real quickly not to get attached to him or anyone else. The few times he and Cupid had hung out together, Strife was given harsh warnings not to let Cupid’s loveable nature affect his work ethic, whatever that meant.

He had kind of liked Cupid back then though; he was all elbows and scrappy spirit, already starting to get defensive about his job and his clothes, and his life in general. Sometimes for fun he’d dance around the kid, pulling feathers until he could have made his own personal set of wings. Cupid would always let him get around 4 to 6 of them before he would tackle Strife to the ground and beat the shit out of him. Strife didn’t mind, that was part of the fun.

Maybe he could have used Psyche’s help after all.

At the mere mention of Strife’s childhood Cupid went a little pale. A lot of people ‘round Olympus did that. Until Ares started to fixate on Hercules, Strife had been considered a bit of a terror.

“In a way it was a good thing that Hercules took you off our hands,” Cupid choked out, “That took up a lot of your time.”

It had also gotten him beaten up more ways than he could describe, almost thrown in Tartarus for eternity, and gave him a serious inferiority complex, but it was probably best not to mention those things. About half of those beatings had been from trying to screw over the guy’s dad after all.

“So I’m making up one of the rooms,” Cupid moved right along brightly, “I figured I’d ask you what your preferences are for sleeping. I’m guessing dark sheets.”

“Woah woah woah,” Strife waved his hands around like he was trying to stop a speeding cart, “Back up there flyboy, what are you talking about?”

“The room,” Cupid said slower, like Strife was stupid or something. “For sleeping.”

Strife sneered back at him, “THANKS I got that part, just not the part where I spend it here. I got my own place, back with Unc. It’s a shithole, but what it lacks in charm it more than makes up for in being not here.”

“Yeah uh,” Cupid’s eyes skittered to the side as if his perfectly polished collection of arrows had the answers Strife was looking for, “You don’t. Is the thing.”

For just a second there, Strife knew he had a heart because he could feel it breaking. “They gave up my room?”

“Well that and,” Strife could only guess at the look on his face when Cupid glanced back quickly then immediately wandered away again. “I kinda… promised Ares you would stay here.”

If he was expecting an eruption he didn’t get one. By the time he looked up, Strife was long gone.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ares didn’t even look up from his map when Strife appeared on top of his offerings table, his powers out of control and his boots ruining a block of cheese and a wine skin respectively.

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

Ignoring the way Discord and Deimos jumped out of their skins, Ares said in a bored tone. “You’re back then.”

Typical Ares bullshit, he wasn’t even going to give Strife the satisfaction of being surprised. Strife had materialized on top of his table, back from the fucking dead, on top of his buffet, and he didn’t even merit a hello. Smashing Ares’ banquet table didn’t do much for helping his anger, but the plates made a marvelous noise as they crashed to the ground. Discord started to gather her power with a look like she wanted to celebrate Strife’s homecoming with a good old fashioned bonfire.

Grabbing the nearest bowl of fruit, he started pelting apples at her at top speed.

“IT WASN’T MY FAULT I GOT STABBED,” Strife bellowed as he fired fruit at his mom and cousin, who dove for cover. Deimos started blasting the plums coming his way out of the air, howling for his brother Phobos. Discord got an apple to the eye, and from her shrieks, she wasn’t pleased about it. “I TOLD YOU CALLISTO WAS BAD NEWS.”

At that Ares looked up, his face darkening. “Of course she was bad news, but you were the one stupid enough to _DIE_.”

“Oh YEAH,” Strife shot back, his mouth miles ahead of his brain, “SHOULD I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO STICK MY DICK IN CRAZY LIKE YOU?”

Dead. Fucking. Silence.

Before Strife knew it, Ares was in his face, holding him up to eye level with only one hand, to the point where Strife’s toes could only barely touch the ground. Squeezing his cheekbones to the breaking point, Ares growled, his voice low and deadly.

“You never had any guts before you died Strife. I’d be more pleased if you weren’t currently digging your own grave all over again.” 

“Go ahead,” Strife choked out with a weak huff, “What are you gonna do, kill me? Been there, done that.”

Then all of a sudden there was a set of tanned hands pulling on Ares’ forearm, which Strife dimly recognized as Cupid’s. “Dad, c’mon don’t be a dick, I spent forever looking for him.”

Ares barely glanced at his son, and the grip around Strife’s face tightened. You should have left him there to rot.”

“Harsh, dad.” Cupid’s tone was calm and steady, like he was coaxing a hydra. “You said I could have him.”

Ares’s shoulders relaxed ever slightly. “I also said I never wanted to see him in here again.”

“You won’t,” Cupid agreed, “I promise. He’s staying with me.”

“I have a right to be here,” Strife choked out defiantly. He didn’t know where all these balls were coming from, if this had been before he died, he would have already been begging on his knees, anything to get Ares to let him go in one piece. Whatever, he didn’t care anymore.

Studying him with an alarming calm-the calm that Strife knew from experience was Ares contemplating if he wanted to disembowel someone, or just throw them into the next country; Ares finally just sighed and dropped him to the ground. Rolling back on to his feet and wiping the blood off his face, Strife held up his fists. Everyone in the room gave him an incredulous look, except for Cupid who looked faintly impressed.

 “I’M NOT TRASH,” Strife yelled near hysterically and somewhere in the back of his mind a part of him wondered if he really had lost it. “YOU CAN’T JUST THROW ME OUT.”

Ares snorted, and Strife saw red. With a speed he didn’t even know he was capable of, he socked the God of War right in the kisser. Ares stumbled back, more of shock than anything else, and held his hand up to his lip. It was bleeding. This time the incredulous looks shot his way gained more than a little wariness, like he was an actual threat. Never able to keep his mouth shut at the best of times, he let out a hoot, bounced on his toes, and cracked his neck, not taking his eyes off Ares for a second.

“That’s it,” Cupid muttered, grabbing his arm. “We’re gone.”

Last thing Strife saw before the flash of light was the begrudging look of admiration on his Uncle’s face.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cupid brought them down to Earth, literally, keeping a firm grip on Strife’s arm until he shrugged him off. They were standing in a field of wild flowers, with the sun shining down on them and a gentle breeze wafting through the grass. It was enough to set off Strife’s allergies.

Already feeling extremely uncomfortable that Cupid had seen his outburst he hunched over and away, kicking savagely at a spread of daisies. “You know sending me to Earth isn’t gonna stop him from beating the shit outta me.”

“He won’t,” Cupid said, as always infuriatingly sure of himself. Strife glanced back over his shoulder. The sun was shining down on his hair, making it almost as bright at Apollo’s. He looked concerned. There was something tight inside Strife’s chest, like a bruise right on the rib cage and he rubbed at it idly.

“Fucking asshole,” Strife snapped tiredly, kicking at one particular daisy until it was crushed into the dirt. “Wasn’t my fault he got played by the psycho, I warned him.”

“You okay?” Cupid actually sounded like he cared, that was the disturbing part. Shrugging, Strife stretched out, cracking his joints. It still felt unusual having a body, let alone using it to go up against Ares. Cupid just watched him patiently, like he had all the time in the world to wait for an answer.

 “Yeah, I’m alright. Never been kicked out of my home before, is all.”

That’s really all he could say on the matter. Where the hell was he supposed to go now? War had been the only thing he had ever known.

“I’d be better if we got out of this fucking field,” he continued nastily, “There isn’t even a trace of trouble here.”

With a chuckle, Cupid put one of his large tan hands on Strife’s slim shoulder. “Strife, anywhere you are, there’s trouble.”

Strife had to smirk at that, it was true.

“Feel like working?” Cupid asked, jerking a thumb towards the little village on the horizon.

“If I said no, not never?”

Cupid just rolled his eyes, unfurled his wings and flew off, leaving Strife to follow him on foot.

The town was a dirty dump, just like all villages in the area. Honestly, Strife never saw the appeal in villages or village life. Some of the Gods went crazy for it, but he preferred a busy metropolis, where he could really make some mischief.

Cupid was standing on the roof of the tavern when Strife appeared in the center of the village. As Strife made his way up, Cupid hunched over, rubbing his seemingly constant 5 o’clock shadow in thought. Without a word he pointed to one of the peasant women making her way to the public well. On the way she bumped into at least 5 different men, apologizing furiously. Finally making her way to the edge of the well, she felt around for the rope, until an exasperated woman handed it to her.

“She’s blind,” Cupid said quietly, as if that wasn’t obvious. “Her father used to fetch the water, but he’s dead now.”

Looking over, he directed his attention towards a well-dressed young man. His attention was completely focused on the peasant woman, and every time she stumbled or ran into a careless villager his entire body flinched, but he stood back. Eventually the woman with the aid of a young child found her house and vanished inside.

“The arrows don’t work,” Cupid said with a hint of frustration. “They depend on sight. If they got close enough to each other I could work some mojo via touch, but-”

“He’s never going to get close enough her,” Strife finished, seeing the problem.

“Exactly. I’ve been stalking this place for weeks now. ”

“I don’t get it. Just shoot the guy, won’t that give him enough balls to go up and ask her out? He’s clearly loaded, not like she’ll say no.”

 With a roll of his eyes Cupid pointed to a sullen stock farmer arguing over the price of cowshit, “You think I couldn’t figure that out for myself? She’s already engaged. He’s the poorest farmer in town, as well as the meanest. No other woman is gonna want a piece of him.”

Now he was starting to see the problem here, “So you need her to break off her engagement-,”

“-with the man who will definitely get violent if she tries-”

“-oh GREAT, all of that, for a guy who she’s never met and who’s too afraid to talk to her, and that she can’t even see.”

“That’s basically it,” Cupid said with a sigh and a glare at the town, as if the very idea that he couldn’t pair up two peasants offended him on a basic level. Maybe it did, after all Strife felt that way too when things were going too pleasant for Herc, Xena and their blondes.

He stood standing on the edge of the roof, as far as he could go without toppling off. Squinting, he experimentally sent a burst of power off, and in the distance a farmer’s wheel toppled off. Already bored with the situation he turned back to Cupid, “All this is pretty sad, like really, I’m playing the world’s tiniest lyre over it, but what do you want me for?”

A twinkle shot through Cupid’s eye, and on anyone else Strife would’ve sworn his grin was down right naughty. “I figured that maybe in this case, some extreme measures were called for.”

Strife liked where this was going, “You mean a little knife in the fiancée’s kidneys, an ‘accidental’ choking, something like that?”

Cupid looked at him with alarm. “I was thinking along the line of maybe you push her into his arms and I put the whammy on them.”

“’EXTREME MEASURES’,” Strife sneered, slapping his cousin on the arm. “You may act like you’re so hardcore, but really you’re a soft little kitten. You gotta think bigger that that cuz, let the master show you how it’s done.”

Cupid’s feathers got all in a tizzy at that, but Strife was already leaping off the roof with a whoop. His landing was less than perfect, but like a good god on a mission he rolled back onto his feet and set off . He could practically feel the gaze of Cupid’s disapproval, but waved him off with a cheery, “Won’t even need the whammy this time!”

The farmer was still arguing over cowshit when Strife came up behind him and brushed his fingers over the back of his neck. “You’re thirsty, you deserve a drink.”

Abruptly, the farmer walked off in the middle of his argument, and Strife followed behind, whistling a cheery tune. The farmer sat down at the bar, ordering a bottle, which hadn’t even been Strife’s idea. So the guy was a lush on top of everything else, surprise surprise. Sitting back with his feet propped up on the table; he watched the guy shoot back drink after drink after drink. Anytime he felt like stopping, Strife just waved him on with the tiniest bit of energy.

Finally when he was good and wasted, Strife sat back up in his chair and touched his hand. “You’re horny. Your fiancée should still be up. It’s dark out; better take a lantern with you. ”

Staggering to his feet, the farmer set off for his fiancée’s home, swinging the near empty bottle by his side. Swaggering after him, Strife glanced up at the tavern rooftop. Cupid was gone. The guy wasn’t stupid; he had gotten the idea by now. The farmer reached the woman’s feeble shack, and started pounding on the door.

“HEYYY,” He yelled, kicking at the door. “LEMME IIIIIIIN.”

Cupid popped up next to him. “It’s done,” he said simply. For better or worse it looked like he was following Strife’s lead. Strife wasn’t sure how he felt 'bout that exactly, but he waggled his eyebrows at the god of love. 

Strife waited until he saw the rich kid running in their direction before he let a blast of his powers go. The farmer dropped his bottle, and the lantern after. Soon the shack was engulfed in smoke, flames licking at the door. Shifting into two, he sent himself inside the shack to where the girl was lying in bed, woken up by the crackling of the fire. For a second she just lay there, confused and scared.

Outside the rich kid stopped, heaving for breath. Strife leaned an elbow up against Cupid and yawned loudly as they all waited for the heroic rescue. Cupid gave him a sullen look, which Strife ignored. He had seen Hercules in the act countless of times and it hadn’t even been interesting at first. 

Except. The boy hesitated. A crowd was forming around the house, everyone muttering to themselves in horror. Some were pointing at the farmer, others asking themselves who the house belonged to.

“I think that poor girl is still inside,” a neighbor said urgently, “someone should help her.”

Cupid swore under his breath, “He’s not going for it.”

Strife stood up straight with interest, watching the boy putz around looking for a clear entrance. Wasn’t this true love shit supposed to be all brave and noble? Figures, everyone was a coward deep down, no exceptions for love.

“Isn’t there anyone who can help?”

“She’ll burn to death!”

 The young man took a step forward. Part of the roofing collapsed, and he fell back onto his ass, gasping. 

The flames licked up higher. The young man’s face grew pale with fear and anxiety. His fists clenched tightly at his side, he watched from the safe distance. He was just a boy really, scared for his life. Back inside the girl was trying feeling her way out through the dense smoke that stung at her useless eyes.

 With a stiff upper lip that would have impressed Ares himself, she felt around for the familiar, trying to get her bearings. Reaching too close to the flames, she singed her hand and pulled back sharply. In her panic she knocked over a meager chair and fell into a pile on the floor completely disoriented. Only then did she start to cry. She knew she was going to die.

Strife had seen and laughed at hardened warriors die crying for their mothers, he had snuck into the room of a loving couple and strangled the wife in her sleep, and yet this girl’s terror only made him feel tired. It just seemed like a damned waste. Outside the boy and several of the women started to cry. The drunk lay on the ground, staring uselessly up at the inferno.

“We’re going to have to cheat a bit,” Cupid said with a determined glint.

Shoving his crossbow into Strife’s arms with a tense command not to drop it, Cupid pulled an arrow out of his quiver and stabbed it into the boy's shoulder.  The effect was near instantaneous. He shot to his feet, and practically dove into the house, heedless of the cries from his friends.

Inside with all the smoke, he would be as blind as she was. Calling out for her, he tripped over a table and fell on his face.

“Dite’s tits, you’re pathetic,” Strife commented, watching him feel his way around towards the door. “That’s right, loser, she’s over here. That’s what you get for taking so long.”

The boy finally found his way over to her side. She had no idea who he was, but when he gently touched her cheek she relaxed, clutching at his arm. Slowly and painfully, he started to lead her out of the house. Everything was collapsing around them, and she flinched, keeping tight to him. They only made it out just in time, as the rest of the roof came crashing down. They collapsed on the grass, the girl feeling around for some sense of place. Shifting up onto his elbows the boy stared at her, her thin peasant dress covered in soot and grim. His face soft enough with love that Strife could almost forget how much of a coward he had been.

“What the hell did you give him,” Strife asked in awe as the boy hooked an arm around the girl and kissed her passionately.

“Courageous love,” Cupid said with a smirk of satisfaction, even though his feathers and normally perfect hair were all in disarray from the job. “Just amplifies what already exists, for those guys who need a push. Figured he might need it, but I was hoping he’d do the right thing without.”

“You guessed wrong,” Strife said darkly.

“He’s young,” Cupid said although he looked a little disgusted as well, “They’ll be good together; their kid grows up to be some bigshot hero, so he had to get it from somewhere.”

Watching them make out furiously on the grass, Strife belatedly realized he should soak up as much mischief energy as possible before it evaporated completely. He had got nothing so far, but then again he had never tried to working with a god from another house, so maybe there was a trick to it. Blinking and shaking his head he concentrated on soaking up the emotions in the air.

Still nothing, not a damn spark.

It was then that Strife was hit hard with the reality of his situation. He was effectively homeless; Ares didn’t want anything to do with him, which meant no feeding off his temples or his battles. Cupe’s energy was apparently nontransferable, which meant he didn’t have a damn way of feeding himself. Suddenly Strife felt sick to his stomach.

His fears were interrupted when Cupid gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder. “Man you did great, I knew this partnership was going to work!”

Strife looked over at him. Cupid really did look like he was impressed, with a wry tilt to the edges of his lips, but it was weird to hear praise directed at himself. Most people didn’t want mischief in their life, regardless of whether it had been good for him or them. He shrugged, for lack of anything to say. Cupid’s warm hazel eyes darkened, and he looked as if he would have said something else, but he was distracted when out of the corner of his eye the boy and girl had finally separated. He had taken her hands in his and was pleading for her to marry him. She was crying again.

Cupid could be pretty sullen and aggressive for a god of love, but it was obvious to anyone that he took pride in his work. Strife’s breath caught in his throat for a second at the dazzling smile Cupid was flashing their way. Clearly someone was getting a charge.  He didn’t bother sticking around for Cupid to notice him again, it’s not like he had anything to contribute to the touching lovers anymore. He was tired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The very air stank of death. It was a barren wasteland, the site of massive bloodshed between three warring kingdoms. The dead numbered so many that in the end most were left where they fell. Spikes of wood wrapped in tattered cloth rose out of the ground as a reminder to any traveler who might stumble across it. Drumming his fingers against a skull, Strife stared up at the night sky, the ghostly taste of iron strong on his tongue.

Almost immediately after the job was finished he got the hell out of dodge. The energy was all wrong. Too much love, not enough war. Bloodshed wouldn’t charge him up-that had always been Ares’s scene. However, he felt relaxed here, among the dead. It felt a little like home to him.

Sinking his fingers into the dirt, he thought he could still feel the slightest tingle of energy there. He soaked it up greedily. Charging at Cupe’s wasn’t possible, clearly. He’d need anything he could get if he was going to be spending any kind of time there, and clearly he shouldn’t expect any from Cupe’s work. Feeding was going to be difficult for a while.

Hera’s ice cold nips, why had Cupid even bothered raising Strife up in the first place?

“They don’t need you, but I do Strife,” He mocked, picking up a stray skull and holding it up to his face. “If it’s any consolation your uncle is an arrogant self-obsessed jackass.”

The skull's empty eye sockets seemed to judge him silently. 

“Join me Strife, come do my shit work Strife, I got a thief for a kid Strife, LOOK AT MY PERFECT HAIR _STRIFE._ ”

Woah. Where had that come from? Strife stared at the skull wide-eyed, as if those had been its gay thoughts and not his.  If they were, the skull wasn’t giving it up. Strife thought about Cupid’s hair, all perfectly styled blonde locks. Even when he had been all ruffled as hell, his hair has still looked great. Must be a Love thing, Strife thought to himself. Him personally, he had always liked to look like a bird had just nestled in his hair. He liked to look crazy. When you’re as thin as a tree nymph and about as strong as one, you learned other ways to look intimidating.

Cupid probably didn’t have that problem. Those tanned muscles, and those big hands…

Man he was talking crazy. It had been a doozy of a day. Getting brought back from the dead, being disowned by the only family that had ever laid claim to him, getting into a fist fight with the God of War, playing lackey to the God of Love. None of it seemed completely real, especially not the hair thing. Maybe it was just the other gods playing a trick on his as payback for cozying up to Callisto and getting himself stabbed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited.

A raven cawed as it flew by, and Strife took great satisfaction from throwing the skull at it.

Well that was that then. This was real life. He shook his head with disgust at himself, some sad sack of a minor god, sitting in a field. Screw it. Jumping onto his feet, he brushed himself off. He had never heard of a god being ‘cut loose’ from his house, but without Ares he was effectively a free agent. He’d play Cupid’s game, as long as it suited him. He’d find his own home; maybe work his name up enough that he could get a temple of his own. He could get his own worshipers for once and stop leaching off other people like carrion.  

And he’d stop thinking about Cupid’s hair that was for fucking sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting a few hours of sleep felt good. Waking up to a screaming godling jumping on his chest did not.

“UP, UP, UP, UP,” Bliss chanted over and over, each command emphasized with a jump onto Strife’s gut. Dazed, confused, and more than a little disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, Strife only just kept himself from blasting the kid into the stratosphere. When Bliss noticed that Strife was actually awake, the jumping only got more excited.

“CUPES,” Strife wailed with his arm over his face to stop the harsh light from stinging his eyes, “ _CUUUUUPES_!”

Cupid burst into the room, his face struggling between amusement and horror at his son. Strife yelped as a sandal clad foot stomped his liver into mush. “Cupid, take your Tarturus spawn, I’m begging you.”

Cupid caught his son in mid-jump, “C’mon kiddo, cousin Strife doesn’t like being smashed into jelly like daddy does.”

“DADDY’S STAYING HOME FROM WORK,” Bliss cheered, throwing his hands up into the air, “IT’S A FREE DAY.”

Strife didn’t have the energy or the will to care. Instead he clawed his way towards the edge of the bed, each inch feeling like miles upon miles. He must have overestimated the amount of power he had used last night. Without Ares to bolster him up, he’d be weaker than ever before. Cupid must have noticed, because he put Bliss down, and grabbed Strife’s hand, pulling him up on his feet.

Strife wavered, before grabbing onto the nearest tall thing for support, which happened to be Cupid. Belatedly he realized that he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Also that he had disappeared his outfit away last night. Cupid looked him up and down smirking, but didn’t say a word about it.

“Yeah don’t bother looking away or anything weirdo,” Strife muttered, deciding that he would just try to keep from falling over again, and worry about pants later.  “Gotta get your freaky love kinks someway I guess.”

“Hey it’s cool, we’re opened minded bunch,” Cupid pointed out, and Strife could feel the weight of a strong hand around his back, steadying him up. “Zeus knows I’ve seen my mom’s enough-”

“H’come Strife doesn’t have to wear clothes and I do,” Bliss interrupted to ask his dad with a suspicious tone, as if he had finally found a flaw in his dad’s logic.

“Strife’s an adult,” Cupid said patiently, his eyes still fixated on Strife’s embarrassingly slim chest. “He doesn’t have to do _anything_ he doesn’t want to do.”

Creating clothes for himself took more out of him than he wanted to admit, but it was worth it to get the peanut gallery off his back. They ended up dumping him in the pillow pen again, where he sat cross legged, devouring Bliss’s already abundant offerings with the grace of a horse. It was embarrassing getting out worshiped by a baby.

After eating he felt better. At least he could walk without falling over. Bliss climbed him like a tree, stealing another six pins off him in the process. Still hoping for some kind of physical damage, Strife taught him how to link them together into a chain, showing off his intolerance to pain by stabbing one through his lip and hooking the chain up to his cheek. Bliss watched in awe, all big eyes and fluttering baby wings. Cupid looked on with amusement, but didn’t try and stop him, which was kinda weird. 

“Great parenting cuz,” he commented, wiping the blood off his face when Cupe’s only response to Bliss’s breathless request for piercings of his own was a languid ‘later’, “Really showing off those single parent skills, I like it.”

Carefully accounting for every single arrow in the temple (apparently there had been an ‘incident’ with Bliss while Strife was busy croaking it), Cupid just shrugged. “Worrying was always Psyche’s bag. The kid’s a god, so it’s not like he’s going to get hurt. Anyway, my mom gave me hell for my tattoos, and that only made me get more.”

“Yeah your teenage rebellion got real old, real quick,” Aphrodite commented, poofing into view beside him, looking as gorgeous and vain as ever. “Those tattoos will give you prematurely loose skin y’know.”

Strife nearly threw back his head and laughed at the way Cupid’s face soured when she appeared. It made him look much less the worldly god of love and more like a 16 year old boy. He slammed the quiver of arrows back into their spot. Dite rolled her eyes at her son’s practiced and unspoken disdain, toying with one of her many flawless curls.

“GRANDMA,” Bliss shrieked happily, flying into her arms. She winced and pinched his cheeks a little harder than seemed necessary.

“What’d your beautiful loving Aphorodite say about calling her grandma, sweetie-pie?”

“Yeah Bliss, don’t call a spade a spade,” Strife said sweetly, “Call her almost 2,000 years old.”

“Uh hello, who invited you back to the living, Strife?” Aphrodite’s glare narrowed on him with deadly precision, “Don’t tell me Ares decided after all this time that he needed his jester back?”

“Naw he just decided that he needed a good cocksucker around, said your skills were falling short,” Strife shot back with a lick of his lips, relishing with the glee the way her eyes burned with murder. He didn’t take her insults to heart; you needed to a thick skin to grow up in War.

“He’s got a point mom,” Cupid pointed out, savoring any opportunity to bitch at his mother, “Your millennium is coming up, when is it exactly? 6 months from now?”

“Ha ha, very funny. It’s six DECADES away thanks very much.” She dropped Bliss like a sack of potatoes (although the kid did have wings, so it wasn’t like he actually fell) and placed her hands on her voluptuous hips, huffing at her son. He glared back at her, and for a minute it looked like it might come to a Love on Love war, however the hell that worked.

Dite was the first to break the standoff, casually inspecting her nails like none of this was really worth her precious time, “Look Cupe, I need a favor.”

“No.” Cupid’s face got all pinched up, his wings drawn tight against his back, “we talked about this mom, I’m not doing your dirty work anymore.”

Dite gave her son what she clearly thought was a winning smile, “It’s barely even a thing. I just have a couple I need you to match up; by next week that’s all.”

“Oh, really?” Strife figured that if Cupid knew how much he looked like his mother with his hand on his hip and his lips pressed together sarcastically he would be very upset, and made a mental note to tell him later.

“What’d this old rich guy promise you in return for a banging hot wife? They’d build you a temple?”

Dite stuck her nose up into the air and sniffed delicately. “I’m the Goddess of Love. People build me temples all the time. Certainly more than they do for _Athena_.”

She spat out her sister’s name like a bad fruit. The rivalry between the sisters was legendary, as was the things they would do to win. 

 Cupid threw his hands up in the air with disgust. “You’re unbelievable, I’m working my ass off trying to create meaningful connections and you undermine me at every opportunity just so that you can feed your friggn’ ego and win some PISSING CONTEST with those other HAGS.”

 “Well she started it,” Dite whined, embracing her son’s shoulders. “C’mooooon Cupes, I gotta have those temples. Artemis and Athena don’t take me seriously as it is-“

“Gee I wonder why?”

“-They think they’re sooooo smart just because Athena is little miss wisdom personified and Artemis is the outdoors type. And you know that matching takes a lot outta me. I gotta get my beauty sleep in Cupes, how else do you think I maintain this level of attractiveness?”

 Petting her grouchy son’s hair tenderly, Aphrodite pouted. “Please, Cupid? For your mother? It’s just one little warlord. He doesn’t even have a girl in mind, he just wants someone pretty; you can pick anyone you want to match him with.”

 Cupid wilted slightly under his mother’s care. “I’ll take a look, okay, but that’s it. If the guy is a prick or a rapist or whatever I’m leaving.”

Dite pinched her son’s cheek, “You’re such a little moral guard sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you came out of me. Especially with this figure.” She gestured at herself, and Strife made sure to snort with the appropriate amount of ridicule.

"Grandma,” Bliss asked, politely tugging at her dress, “are you older than _ZEUS_?”

Aphrodite's face turned beet red, and this time Strife couldn’t help himself, he fell back into the pillows with a peal of giggles. Let Aphrodite curse him, not like it really mattered. He never really had much of a love life to begin with. Cupid joined in, roaring with laughter to the point where he was bent forward, balancing himself against a pillar.  Bliss grinned, completely clueless but happy that everyone else was happy.

“I guess we better head out then if this is so urgent,” Cupid said dryly once he and Strife managed to stop laughing, “Watch Bliss for a couple of hours?”

The look on Aphrodite’s face was absolutely priceless.

“Coming, Strife?” Cupid asked.

Strife clenched a fist together, noting the complete lack of a spark. He had run completely dry. Oh well. What better place to charge than a warlord's camp? “Sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Man, fuck your mom,” Strife said, decidedly pissed and only just managing to dodge the fire blasts Discord was sending his way. As it turned out, she wasn’t happy about the whole fruit thing, and when Cupid had shown up in the camp with her prodigal son in tow, she wasted no time bringing out the big guns.

The camp was on fire. The entire army was in retreat, leaving only the warlord to try and reason with her; considering he was now lying flat on his back and slightly on fire, that hadn’t gone too well. Strife was currently dancing his ass off in an attempt not to get barbecued. Discord man, she could never let anything go.

“Believe me you could,” Cupid said grimly, hiding behind a rack of second rate swords, “Everyone else has.”

 “Can’t you do anything about this?” Strife shouted, having to damn near twist himself in half to avoid two especially large blasts. One of Discord’s fire balls flew past Strife’s head, singeing his hair in the process, that bitch. Cupid popped his head up from behind the rack, looking rather harried himself and gave Strife ‘a look’.

“Like what? Make her jealous? Do you really want a jealous Discord on our hands?”

“JUST MAKE HER STOP SHOOTING AT ME.”

“HEY STRIFE,” Discord called out, her face twisted with glee as she sent Strife, Cupid, and even the damn warlord scattering. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THESE APPLES?”

Strife paused in his tracks, and stared at her incredulously, mouth hanging open. “I can’t believe you just said that-”

The fire ball crashed into him at 90 miles an hour and sent him flying through the air. Shit, she knew him too well. He hit a nearby tree with a thud, knocking it down and cracking at least 4 of his ribs in the process. Moving his torso hurt like a bitch, and it was with a sick dread he realized that he wasn’t healing. Staggering to his feet he limped back to the camp and the rack where Cupid was hiding, figuring the guy could fucking share his spot.

“Isn’t she your mom,” Cupid hissed, and Strife would have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much.

“We’ve never been that close.”

 Despite his efforts, something must have shown in his voice, because suddenly Cupid narrowed his eyes at him and touched the hand he was discreetly holding to his ribs. Strife tried not to flinch at the pressure, but it was silly to think he could have hidden an injury like this for long. Cupid’s face turned a funny color.

“You’re not healing,” he whispered urgently, like Strife wasn't all too aware of that himself.

Strife gave him the best grin he could under the circumstances, and it was more than a little twisted. “I’ve been running pretty low lately.”

Cupid’s face was filled with guilt, and it hurt Strife more that it should've to see that he put it there. “You’re not getting anything?”

Strife shrugged, “I’ve been banished from my House. I was bound to take a hit.”

Somehow he didn’t have it in him to mention that he wasn’t getting anything from their work together. His ribs were already stabbing enough of his internal organs; he didn’t need more of Cupid’s sad faces doing it too.  An especially bad shock of pain went through him, and he doubled over.

“SHIT,” Cupid swore suddenly, “I should have known, I’m such an idiot.”

Still trying to sit up straight, Strife grimaced at Cupid’s sudden anger, “Woah, it’s alright-”

“IT’S NOT OKAY,” Cupid hissed, looking absolutely furious. It took Strife a second to figure that he was furious with himself and not Strife, which was just weird. It wasn’t his fault that Strife wasn’t getting any mojo. Even if it was, anyone else Strife knew wouldn’t have cared. His uncle clearly didn’t. “You’re my responsibility-“

“COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A GOD YOU LITTLE SHIT,” Discord snarled, and in her frustration she started carpet bombing the entire camp. Diving to the ground, Strife contemplated the aneurism Ares was going to have when he discovered what she had done; honestly was it any wonder that he had replaced her as his second so quickly after Strife was introduced into the pantheon? She didn’t have a damn amount of tact, it wasn’t in her nature. Not that he did either, but at least it was in his nature to be sneakier about it.

“Okay,” Cupid growled. “I’m sick of this. You stay down, alright?”

Before Strife could protest-he KNEW Discord-she wasn’t too bright when she got mad like this but she more than made up for it with sheer bloody will-Cupid picked up one of the second rate swords, inspecting it with disapproval. With one of those curious bird shrugs he took off, spreading out his wings with a snap that probably shouldn’t have given Strife a semi but did anyway, because that was the world he was living in now. It was hard to see beyond the rack and flaming tents so Strife crawled out for a better look, swearing under his breath at the pain.

Cupid was hovering right out in the open, just waiting for Discord to catch on. The guy was seething, holding his sword up in a way that was all Ares; Strife didn’t even realize that flyboy ever learned how to use a sword. Finally, longer than it should have taken a God in the House of War, Discord realized that he was there out in the open, and it was only then that Cupid drew back his arm and friggn-Strife would have to swear on his life that this happened whenever he told the story-THREW the damn thing at her.

Well, it worked.  Discord went down, mostly from the surprise of having an iron stick thrown at her face, but that was the only open Cupid needed. It only took him a second to get on top of her, with his crossbow in hand and look of complete and utter doneness on his handsome face. In one smooth motion that really _REALLY_ shouldn’t have given Strife a semi, he shot Discord in the chest at point blank range, his hands flying over her eyes. Glancing around frantically, he spotted the warlord, hiding just out of sight.

“HEY YOU,” Cupid barked, pointing at him, and suddenly he looked much more godlike than he normal, like one of the 12, “YEAH YOU. Get over here, hurry up.”

The warlord was a short stocky man with a face like a sea slug who went by the name of Faenus. He hurried over, but it wasn’t so much that he wanted to come over, and more that he was afraid what Cupid would do to him if he didn’t. Faenus was much smarter than he looked.

“You wanted a pretty wife, right?” Cupid asked, and if he really had what Strife thought he did in mind, he was going to piss off both of his parents at the same time, and it was beautiful. Strife couldn’t have done it better himself.

Yanking the guy down-while Strife’s mind entertained other things Cupid could yank down-and taking his hand off Discord’s eyes in perfect precision, Discord couldn’t help but glance up at the war lord. She froze, before purring in a way Strife suspected she thought was sexy, yanking him down by the armor. Rolling out of the way, Cupid shot the guy with an arrow before he could get out of her grasp, gave them a casual thumb up and left them to it.

“Are you going to teach me how to do that?” Strife asked as Cupid swaggered back and helped him to his feet (honestly at this point Strife was ready to pack legs in and get a few of those little gold robots that Uncle Heph had helping him around).  After getting him up, Cupid didn’t let go of his hand, just kept it there and his other wrapped around Strife’s waist. It was just as well, he didn’t have it in him to stand anyway.

Cupid lost a bit of his swag, and was back to that guilty face Strife hated so much. “Do you know what’s going on?”

The unspoken ‘Are you broken, did I do this when I brought you back’ floated through the air.

“I’m just running low,” Strife repeated, keeping his eyes on the ground. It wasn’t right to make Cupid fuss over him. The guy had enough problems, what with his work, his Tartarus spawn, and now his parents.

“We’re going to see Ace,” Cupid said in a tone that brokered no discussion on the matter. “Let’s get out of here.”

Strife peered over where Discord was straddling the war lord, moaning loudly. “Can we just-“

“No.” Cupid said firmly.

“Aw, c’mon cuz you don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“No, but I’m not stupid.”

Well Strife couldn’t argue with that logic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asclepius was a pretty chill guy for being Apollo’s favorite son. That was probably good for them because it meant that when they appeared in his lab, all he did was greet them politely. Arm still wrapped around his back, Cupid helped Strife into the nearest chair. Breathing through the nose didn’t help at all, but Strife tried it anyway, concentrating on anything but the pain. Dying had been less painful and he tried not to whimper in front of Cupid.

"Hey doc, I got kinda an ouchie here," he said with a wince and a gesture towards his ribs.

"I see," Asclepius said calmly glancing up from his potions, "but you’re not healing?"

"Woah brilliant man, I can totally see how you got this gig."

 Asclepius didn’t react to the first class sarcasm, which irked Strife. Maybe he didn’t even know what sarcasm was, he thought snidely. He was almost certain that Apollo didn’t.

“I don’t get it,” Cupid said miserably. “You should be getting something, I mean I thought Bliss would be enough to keep you in the black for months.”

If it was possible for Strife’s godhood to be sustained by a single child, he had no doubt that that child would be Bliss. Unfortunately not even the minor of gods worked that way. Strife snorted and winced when that sent stabs of pain through him. Kneeling down next to Strife’s chair, Ace settled his hands on his ribs in a way that felt strangely comforting. The pain floated away, and that was nice, that was more than nice, that was great.

“You really ought to take that show on the road,” Strife muttered, suddenly feeling relaxed all over. He slumped down in his chair, and nearly missed the soft satisfied smile on Ace’s face. There was a hand in his hair, and it took him a minute or 5 to realize that it was Cupid. Flyboy seemed to be spending most of his time worrying, it must be a dad thing. He giggled a little to himself, and that’s when he realized that he was half asleep.

“You’re exhausted,” Ace commented softly. “Your body’s drained, which shouldn’t happen if you’re going down to Earth. When was the last time you fed?”

Slumping more in the chair, tapping at the arm, Strife looked down at the ground instead of at Cupid. “Not since I got back. I felt a tingle once, but that was it.”

Cupid didn’t say anything, and Strife didn’t look at his face, but he could hear the sound of anxiously fluttering wings, and the hand in his hair moved to rest on his hand, settling his anxious tapping. Ace rubbed his mouth in thought. The silence was near unbearable.

“Am I broken?” Strife couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Did something go wrong when Cupid brought me back?”

He tried not to take it badly when Ace took his time answering, still rubbing his lips. The guy probably wasn’t used to conversations, with Apollo ‘Hey Dudes Lets Go Catch Some Rays’ as a dad. Cupe’s knuckles started to turn white at the bone.

 Finally Asclepius said slowly, “I’ve never heard of someone being forced out of their House, or starving for energy since the things that make us Gods have always existed in plenty. There's always been War, Love, Nature, etc. You asked if you were ‘broken’ in some way by the resurrection? I don’t think this is the case. If I had to guess, I would say that without a House leader you’re more…directionless.”

Holding up a hand, Strife stopped him right there. “Wait a minute doc, you’re telling me I can’t feed because I don’t have a big strong man to tell me I’m a failure for not killing Hercujerk and the wandering warriors?”

Asclepius wasn’t THAT much older than him or Cupid, but he gave them a grandfatherly smile and shrugged gracefully. “I think that perhaps the way you were before you died is not the way you are now, and your body is confused.”

“So,” Cupid said slowly, “Does he need to get back into his House to get better?”

“That is perhaps one path open to him.” Asclepius stood up, brushing off his knees although the floor was as flawlessly clean as everything else in his temple. “Until you come up with a more permanent solution, I’d recommend eating ambrosia anytime you feel weak or need to heal. That should bolster you enough in the meantime. I wish you well. If you excuse me I have actual people to attend to.”

Then he just…disappeared. Not even a spark.

“Are we sure that’s Apollo’s kid?” Strife asked not so jokingly, looking up at Cupid. “Cause I’m thinking his mom pulled a fast one on him…before he burned her alive.”

Cupid just stared at where Asclepius just was, and he looked so broody and guilty kneeling there with his hand clenching up into a tight fist and his pinched lips that Strife couldn’t stand it and he leaned over and flicked his forehead. “What’d your mother say about you getting wrinkles, huh?”

 Jumping a little, Cupid looked at him and frowned. “Strife…”

"Shut up," Strife snapped, fidgeting around in the chair uneasily. "Just shut your trap."

Cupid’s brow actually furrowed and he frowned all the more, “This is all my fault.”

"If you start that crap again I’m gonna blast your feathered ass into the stratosphere alright?" Strife pointed a finger at him intimidatingly. "Seriously. I don’t care if it kills me again, I’ll do it."

"I didn’t mean for any of this to happen," Cupid said miserably, rubbing his face with his hands. "I just wanted. I-I thought."

He stopped and just shook his head. “I didn’t think it was right. Leaving you down there.”

Strife rubbed at his neck awkwardly. Yeah it had sucked when he realized that no one from his family was coming for him. Not his uncle, not his cousins, not even his mother. In the same situation he probably wouldn’t have though, and you get what you put into something. The house of War was many things but loyal had never been one of them. Still it sounded weird when pointed out by an outside party.

Cupid didn’t notice how awkward he was making everything though and kept going, “After you died everyone talked about it for weeks. They all said it was impossible; there wasn’t anything that could kill a god. They even said it was a shame. Then, they just forgot. Everyone forgot about you.”

He turned his face towards Strife, and his hazel eyes were blazing. “But I couldn’t forget. I didn’t even know you that well when you were alive but I remembered that when we were kids you weren’t that bad. You were an asshole but you didn’t deserve that and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t see why anyone could. If that had happened to Bliss I’d-”

Strife had never seen Cupid lose his cool like this before. Not able to finish a damn sentence, all awkward stutters and disjointed plots.

"Then I figured that well, I could find you, and it would be easy and I'd be doing you a favor. And when-when I found you. You just looked so lost."

Those hazel eyes softened from a forest fire to a camp fire, and that was when Strife realized that they were only inches away from each other. “Like you were waiting for us to remember but we never did.”

He leaned up and before Strife knew it, there was a pair of warm lips on him, and Cupid was attached to them. Strong tan hands settled on either side of his head, carefully holding him in place. When he didn’t immediately respond, Cupid made a frustrated noise and pushed, kissing the very life out of him.

It took longer than it should have to push him away. Cupid looked shocked, like he had gotten a fish to the face instead of a rejection by a skinny pale god of nothing. He probably wasn’t used to rejection. Who would be with a face like that?

Strife wasn’t playing this game though, no way. He might not have had any pride when he was alive, and even fewer standards, but no amount of nice kissing was worth getting pity fucked by the God of Love as an apology for your family forgetting about you after your death.

"I need a drink," Strife said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "If I gotta put up with this shit."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"You’re into me, I know it,” Cupid stated like it was a damn fact.

They found a tavern. Strife had been there before; it was sleazy and dangerous, which made it perfect for his needs. Cupid has insisted on coming along, Strife had only barely convincing him to unshield so that he didn’t looking like an idiot talking to himself, and to wear a cloak over his wings. Now the guy was sitting across the table from him, looking as stormy as Poseidon, holding his crossbow and quiver in front him like an uncool idiot and completely ruining the vibe Strife was trying to cultivate. 

"Oh Tarturus," Strife moaned into his palm, waving down the tavern owner. "I’m rich and important, and I’ve got problems, I’m going to need your strongest whatever. All of it. Just keep it coming, jug after jug."

 Slamming his bow on the table in a way that was in no way inconspicuous, Cupid gave Strife a sulky look. “It’s not like you’ll get drunk off that swill.”

“Correction,” Strife said, rubbing his hands together with anticipation as the exasperated tavern owner slammed the jug down on the table. “ARES can’t get drunk off this swill. I’m a skinny, minor, powerless god; it’ll just take me a while. “

No time like the present they said.

Not needing to breath came in real handy at times like this, Strife thought as he tilted his chin up and poured the whole damn jug down his throat. Cupid watched with a look of sick fascination on his face, like he was watching a rat eat itself, or Diemos and Phobos flirt with each other. Throwing his jug over his shoulder the second he was done, Strife started the process over again. Ten times he did this.

When he finished the 11th, Cupid put out a hand and stopped him. “ _I’m sorry_  okay. You don’t need to keep doing this.”

“Oh I think this is exactly what I need to keep doing,” Strife said with a slightly hysterical giggle. “Have you seen my life lately?” 

He held up a fist and started counting on his fingers. “I got no life. I got no house. I got no powers. The God Love tried to pity fuck me-”

“Wait,” Cupid said frowning, “Is that what you thought was happening?”

“-A baby keeps stealing parts of my outfit, I’m actually a little drunk-”

 “It wasn’t a pity fuck, it was a kiss!”

 “-I’m seriously considering begging my uncle to let me back, even though he was an asshole who got me killed in the first place, because it’s either that or slowly fade away.”

“It was just one kiss! Hold up, are you serious?”

Cupid leaned over across the table intensely and oh boy Strife had seen that look before and he veered backwards, falling off his ass. Oh yeah he was a little drunk. When he clambered back up, Cupid was still there, still looking intense and maybe even a little upset.

“You’d actually beg him to take you back?” Cupid asked sounding horrified that a grown man would stoop so low.

Like he had any business thinking Strife had _standards_.

“Are you gonna tell me I’m above that?” Strife asked, snorting into his outrageously foul drink, “’cause lemme tell you, you have no idea of what I’m not above doing.”

He slammed his jug on the table, relishing the loud noise it made.  “When are you gonna get that Cupes? There was a reason that no one cared enough to remember me after I died, and it’s not just because we live in a family more dysfunctional than a pack of stray cats. I’m a sneak and a coward and usually just plain evil, cuz.”

Cupid looked like he wanted to protest, but Strife held up a hand because he wasn’t done, not by a long shot. By this point he was up on his feet, and judging by the way the entire bar was watching them there was the slightest possibility he might be yelling. Let the fuckers watch, he thought wildly, he might not have shit in the way of power but he had a knife and was half crazy on a good day.

“Do you know why Discord and I are on a first name basis? Why I don’t have a dad? It’s because I wasn’t even fucking born, not the way you or Blissy were anyway. See, just before I was born Ares told Discord that even though she was his twin sister, she’d never be his second.”

 “That,” he helpfully explained to the confused Cupid, “Was on account of her being crazier and more impulsive than a sack of bats. Or something, a bag full of something crazy and impulsive.”

“So what’s a poor Goddess of Chaos to do, eh? Well she thought maybe yknow, maybe if she managed to ditch some of her crazier impulses, she’d be able to think more clearly, and Unc would be begging for her advice. So that’s what she did. Literally.”

It hadn’t worked; it had been a stupid idea to begin with. The fact was that it was in Discord’s very nature to be unreliable. Sure she had shed herself of some poor qualities, she was always more single minded than Strife, better at coming up with her treacherous schemes, and could actually sit still on occasion, but she was never going to be what Ares wanted in a lieutenant. Strife had the ability to do what he was or wasn’t told (even though he usually failed) and was smart enough not to plot openly against his uncle, or at least was smart enough to blame someone else. When it came down it it, Mischief was much more controllable than Chaos.

Cupid looked a little disgusted, which was the exact reaction Strife was looking for. Let him try and start anything after this. He jumped on to the table top, sliding his legs onto Cupid’s bench, and leaned over like they were having an actual conversation. Cupid’s hair looked as perfect as ever, but Strife pretended to tuck a stray hair back anyway.

“I don’t know how she did it, I never asked.” Brushing his own spidery hair out of his eyes, he laughed, high and shrill like a scream. “Doesn’t really make a difference though, does it? Either way, the God of Mischief was ‘born’. I didn’t even have a name until Uncle got tired of calling for ‘the brat’. Did you know Discord’s full title used to be Goddess of Chaos  _and_  Strife? No one seems to remember that now."

"Then I grew up and took her job." He had never noticed the irony until that moment. Her greatest failure turned out to be her greatest rival. “She hates me. She’s always hated me.”

“So you see,” Strife finished with his voice just above a whisper, putting a finger up to Cupid’s stubble and scrapping it with his nail idly, “There was never supposed to be a God of Mischief. Callisto was just doing the universe a favor.”

Cupid didn’t say anything. But he didn’t flinch, he didn't look away, and there wasn’t a flash of pity in his hazel eyes. Strife admired that; maybe if there had been any chance that what he had offered was real he would've taken it. The guy had guts, and he wasn’t so bad to hang around with. Also there was the hair thing. And Hera help him, those muscles.

Strife slid off the table and onto the floor. “I’m starting to sober up, think I’ll go walk around and try to get knifed.”

He didn’t get two feet closer to the door when the last person he wanted to see while a little bit drunk and a little bit suicidal walked in.

“ _Strife?_ ” Hercules asked in disbelief, not even noticing the way that Iolaus walked into him and bounced right off.

“Oh fuck me,” Strife moaned, burying his head in his hands.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Iolaus, get back,” Hercules ordered, as if Iolaus wasn’t already lying on the ground behind him, “Find Xena.”

“Oh great, Xena’s here too,” Strife muttered, mostly to himself, “Look Herc, let’s not bring in the whole Scooby gang, I can’t handle the Fab Four today, alright?”

Hercules’s eyes were filled with hatred and confusion. _“What?”_

Strife huffed, and that’s when Xena burst in through the window, shattering furniture and upsetting the other patrons in the process. With a graceful if unnecessary back flip she landed on the other side of Strife, making him the unwilling participant of a Hero/Villain/Hero sandwich.

“Strife,” she growled, holding her sword out in front of her like she was just dying to stick it in his immortal ass. “I heard you were dead.”

“Yeah well I’ve heard that about you plenty of times,” Strife pointed out, completely fairly in his opinion, “Not to mention Frequent Flyer over there.” He threw a thumb at Iolaus who ran in with Gabrielle in tow.

She arched a delicate eyebrow at his anachronisms. On the other side, Hercules grabbed the collar on Strife's leather outfit and hauled him right off his feet. “You killed my wife.”

It sort of went against his survival instincts but Strife giggled. “I’ve killed a lot of wives. Or, I guess I did.”

“You’re saying you’ve changed?” The snort came from Iolaus and Strife didn’t appreciate it under the circumstances.

He shrugged, “Nah I’m still the same.”

Hercules yanked harder, and again it was really useful that he didn’t need to breathe. “I’m just uh, well…”

“He can’t get it up,” Cupid said flatly, finally joining the crowd blocking the tavern door. It was just as well that Xena had opened up the window for everyone, so they could climb out of the promised disaster area.

“Ha ha,” Strife choked out rolling his eyes. “You’re as funny as the furies, cuz.”

“Cupid?” Hercules looked up at his favorite nephew, his eyebrows drawn up like he had just seen a tragedy. “Are you with Strife?”

“Well not in the way I’d like,” Cupid drawled side-eying the fuck out of Strife and ow that wasn’t fair, Strife was about to get ripped apart by a stupider version of a titan and here was Cupid with his dumb innuendos and his dumb perfect hair.

“Is that a Love God thing?” Strife asked, unable to help himself. “Seriously I’ve never seen one of you guys with even a split end.”

Everyone ignored him. Typical. Hercules was still looking at Cupid like he was going to cry from parental disappointment, or even worse give him ‘the talk’,  Xena still clearly wanted to kill something, Iolaus and Gabrielle were keeping well out of way and Strife was just dangling from Hercules’ stupid fat fingers.  He tried to wiggle his way out, but no joy.

“Look Uncle Herc, I get that Strife was a huge dick to all of you, and he killed Serena and framed you for it, and beat the shit out of you a little-”

“Doing a great job, Cupes,” Strife muttered, and Herc  _shook him_  like a  _kitten._  He could just hear Ares having a conniption fit in the back of his mind about his complete lack of godliness or whatever.

“-But Ares kicked him out of War for not killing you and uh dying, so he’s almost completely powerless now.” Strife wasn’t sure how alright he was with Cupid just blabbing out his life story. “I know you’re totally too cool to kill a defenseless man and I  _really_  don’t wanna explain to Bliss that his second favorite relative got smashed in pâté, so how about you just let him go and we split, alright?”

When Hercules let Strife fall to the floor, it seemed like it was less because he agreed and more because he didn’t know what was going on. Cupid helped Strife up onto his feet, and flashed his uncle a grateful nephew grin. Xena sheathed her sword, looking extremely disappointed; Strife could see why Ares lusted after her so much. Gabrielle and Iolaus breathed a consecutive sigh of relief, high fiving each other that neither was going to be threatened by a god that day.

“You,” Herc, said firmly in his best Zeus impression, pointing at Strife, “Got lucky.”

“Not as often as you and blondie I’m sure,” Strife shot back, waggling his eyebrows.

Before Herc could pummel him into the ground (because nice or not nice, Strife had known the guy for years, and knew exactly what buttons to push and they included his pathetically requited unrequited gay feelings) Aphrodite appeared, looking as panicked and haggard as Strife had ever seen her look.

“Mom?” Cupid asked walking forward urgently, already cluing in on the only reason Dite would ever willingly go down to Earth with bloodshot eyes and a red nose.

“It’s Bliss,” She said with a hiccup.

~~~~~~~~~

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Iolaus said slowly, “But doesn’t the little scamp go wandering off every other week or so? What’s so special about this time?”

Team Do Good had finally unblocked the doorway so that all non-suicidal humans could head for the hills and ended up at the back of the now abandoned tavern. It would make for an interesting joke, Strife contemplated, three gods, three humans, and a demi walk into a bar and all that. By his side, Cupid was pacing back and forth, because nothing would have convinced him to sit down when his child was missing. Xena and Gabrielle had stayed, offering their services as warrior badass boss and annoyingly considerate sidekick.

 “I can’t sense him ANYWHERE,” Aphrodite wailed, wringing her hands, “It’s like he just vanished!” Gabrielle was combing out her hair and braiding it up. It had been the only thing that they could think of to calm her down.  That she was even allowing a mortal woman to touch her hair had been a shock, but then again Gabrielle did have practice working with Xena, whose dark hair flowed down her back like the Styx.

“Bliss is too young to shield his energy like that,” Cupid said with a growl, and he was warring out there with the frumpy cloak gone, wings flaring, hazel eyes flashing and crossbow already in hand, “Which means-"

“Someone took him,” Strife finished. At any other time he would have thought it was sickening the way they were already finishing each other’s sentences like that. But Bliss was missing, and the idea that someone had it in for that happy little Tarturus spawn filled him with a sick sense of dread.

 “Who would be suicidal enough to take a baby god?” Gabrielle asked as she and a bemused Iolaus tried to console the sobbing goddess of love by putting her hair up in a tasteful yet youthful ponytail.

Hercules looked thoughtfully at Cupid. “The real question is who would be able to? It’s not as if mortals can waltz up to Mount Olympus.”

“None of the Gods would kidnap their own kin,” Cupid snapped, nearly breaking his crossbow in half. “There’s no way.”

Hercules’s eyes slide towards Strife and yeah Strife couldn’t really blame him for thinking that, as insulting as it was. If Ares had ordered him to before his death, he probably would have. Cupid noticed the look and growled low and threateningly.

“Don’t even say it or I’ll kick your teeth in. Strife wouldn’t hurt Bliss.”

Herc’s eyes widened at the snarled threats coming from his favorite nephew, and Strife placed a careful hand on Cupid’s arm, directly over his tattoo. “Cool your jets, flyboy. Herc-a-jerk is just an idiot.”

Cupid visibly relaxed under his touch, nodding reproachfully at himself. “You’re right, I’m just.” His voice shook a little in the most heartbreaking way, “I can’t believe anyone would take Bliss, he’s just a kid.”

“We’ll find him,” Herc said solemnly, “I promise.”

Iolaus turned a little and gave Hercules an adoring smile, like 'golly gosh you’re such a good person Hercules, please take my gay virginity’. Even in such a serious moment Strife had to fight not to roll his eyes. After this he was gonna tell Cupid just to shoot them before Strife set another house fire just to get away from their dumb requited unrequited feelings.

He looked over thoughtfully at Xena very obviously Not Looking at Gabrielle Not Looking at her. Perhaps there would be two fires.

Shaking his head, he got back in the game and listened to Cupid and Herc go back and forth on who would want to kidnap the world’s cutest godling.

“Maybe Psyche has him?”

Cupid shook his head, “Even if she didn’t see him all the time already, Psyche wouldn’t ever do something like this.”

“Callisto?”

“Hades, let’s hope not,” Iolaus said fervently, giving up on the hysterical goddess of love and moving to Herc’s side. “That’s pretty much the worst case scenario isn’t it?”

“And impossible,” Cupid said, “Considering that no one noticed that Bliss was missing. I know my mom isn’t that observant but I think even she would notice Callisto breaking in.”

“It has to be someone close,” Xena mused, “Someone who can walk around Olympus and look like they belong there, but unhinged enough to kidnap a beloved child.”

All eyes flickered back to Strife again, but he barely noticed, what with the cold realization that just shot through straight down to his fingertips. He knew who it was. It was obvious. He shot a look at Cupid, who got his meaning right away.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Cupid snarled, and he meant it. Strife fought not to get another semi. It really wasn’t the time, even if Cupid was really working the avenging dad angle.

Humans and demis alike all exchanged blank looks, but it was Gabrielle who finally asked what no one else had the courage to. “Is Hope back?”

 She looked a little pale at the thought; Xena discreetly grasped her hand, even while her own eyes burned at the mere mention of that name.

“Discord,” Strife said shortly before the guesses could get even more out of control.

“That bitch is dead,” Cupid promised, “I’m gonna tear her apart.”

“No, you can’t,” Hercules said as irritatingly responsible as ever, “It won’t matter to Zeus why you did it, he won’t be able to just let that go.”

“I’m gonna make her so undesirable to men that anyone who sees her bursts into flames,” Cupid growled not really listening and Strife just laughed.

“She would love that, really she would.”

Cupid looked like he was about to lose his shit at the thought of Discord getting her grubby hands on his kid, and Strife was putting a hand on his chest before he knew it, “Listen, she won’t actually hurt Bliss. She knows that if she did, grandpa Ares and the whole of the pantheon would come down on her like a ton of bricks. She’s just upset, and she knows this is the best way to get our attention. Bliss is fine.”

“What’s she got against  _you_ , Cupid?” Herc asked snidely, and got a reproachful smack on the shoulder from Iolaus.

“I shot her with a love arrow to keep her from killing Strife,” Cupid said like that wouldn’t raise up a billion more questions right there.

“Strife, isn’t Discord your mom?” Iolaus asked incredulously, and honestly he didn’t understand why everyone asked that question in that tone. Diemos and Phobos were twins and they had been fucking like bunnies for years, family meant something completely different upstairs.

 “I’m gonna kill her,” Cupid muttered again, in case anyone had managed to forget his murderous rampage.

“So we give her what she wants,” Xena said interrupting the murder talk and narrowing her eyes at Cupid and Strife, “then we all ambush her.”

 “What if Bliss gets hurt in the fighting?” Gabrielle asked sounding genuinely worried, and Strife could find a place in his heart to forgive her annoying sidekick tendencies. “Having a child in the middle of a fight sounds dangerous?”

 “Well he is a god,” Iolaus pointed out, “So it’s not like he’ll die, right?”

“Bliss is a smart kid,” Strife said, partially in response to that, and in part to reassure Cupid who looked like he might lie down and die at the mention of his kid being hurt. “He wouldn’t just stand there. More than likely Discord’s holding him somewhere on Earth, and he’s just waiting for his daddy to come get him.”

“And,” He said triumphantly, “I got a pretty good idea where, _and_ I got a plan, but before I blow your minds, I think we should all take a moment to relish the hell that Bliss is certainly putting Discord through.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I WANT DADDY,” Bliss shrieked, battering Discord with his fists.

“DADDY-OW, OW, OW, FUCK,” Discord yelled, protecting her head. “QUIT IT!”

“I WANNA GO HOME.”

“I told you,” She fumed, trying to keep her fire under control. “Your daddy’s gonna come get you real soon.”

 At least she hoped so. After an appropriate amount of sweating time, she had sent a message to Dite’s place, but the ditzy bitch hadn’t waited long enough to get it. Surely Cupid wasn’t that stupid though, and Strife would be the one to figure out where she was, the only place that either of them would go.

Ares’s temple on Earth. He didn’t use it much after Strife’s untimely demise (pity that hadn’t stuck), and it was strong enough to survive a war between gods, let along a scuffle. Bliss yanked at the squirming arm in her grasp, and Discord flicked him on the nose hard enough that he sat down and started to cry. Pathetic. Even Strife hasn’t been that bad when he was a baby, and that had been too much for Discord to begin with.

 Discord had never seen Strife as her own. Like a brother maybe, a brother she especially hated. Aw hell she loathed the damn kid, especially after he weaseled his way up to Ares’ side, stealing her spot as his second. She had been already to ditch him on Earth after it turned out that her idea hadn’t worked, but there was that pesky ‘gods can’t kill gods’ rule.

 She wondered how Faenus was doing, if he missed her much, and wondered if she should go visit him later. She shook her head frantically. Honestly, the sooner that love spell was gone, the better it would be. Then maybe she could bring herself to kill him.

But maybe she would give him one last ride first. Bashing her forehead with the butt of her knife, she muttered, “Keep it together.”

“That never was your strong suit.”

Discord jumped to her feet as Strife strolled in, looking as sneaky as ever. That is, he did until he noticed the brat crying by her side, his pale blue eyes flickering in his direction. She could see the glimpse of worry before he shut it away, looking more bored than anything else. Discord almost laughed at that, she knew Strife better than he knew himself. After all in a manner of speaking he was a part of her. A part she’d rather forget.

“Decide to give parenting another go?” He asked playing idly with the knife Ares had given him after his promotion, nodding his head towards Bliss, “If first you don’t succeed and all that.”

“Don’t be gross,” Discord scoffed, tossing her hair back. “Where’s pretty boy?”

“Cuz was a little…upset when he got your message. He’s hanging back for the moment.”

She could imagine how upset the poor little cherub was; he doted on his child to a sickening degree. Still, spending the day with the brat didn’t do her any good if his father didn’t show up and fix what he had done. 

“I want him,” She snarled, showing teeth. “He needs to fix me before anyone but me gets a hand on this kid.”

Discord tapped at her heart and Strife stared at her like she was nuts, cocking his head to the side so all his stupid jewelry clinked around. “Silly question but, did it ever occur to you to just ask instead of resorting to kidnapping?”

Scoffing, she yanked hard on Bliss’s arm causing him to squawk unhappily, grinning at the way Strife’s body language went stiff for a second, “Why _ask_ when you can _order_?”

“That’s why Ares never liked you,” Strife said with a huff, “You’re so bossy.”

Faenus liked her; Faenus loved her, especially because she was bossy-

“Ares never liked me because you were always kissing his ass,” Discord snapped, grinding her teeth. “Now quit stalling and tell your boyfriend to get his winged butt down here or I’ll-"

“Or you’ll what?” The little shit interrupted, hands on his hips. “Kill a God? Kill a  _child_? Kill  _Ares’ grandson_?  _Touch Ares’ grandson in any sort of harmful way_? What do you think the chances of your life being worth a dinar if you do that?”

Faenus would protect her, he had an army, and he would do anything for her even though she had done so many awful things in her life-

“I’D RATHER SPEND ETERNITY IN TARTURUS THAT DEAL WITH THIS LOVE FOR A MINUTE LONGER,” Discord bellowed.

Bliss whimpered, covering his ears as best as he could. Strife’s eyes softened and he took a step towards him, kneeling down to his height. Discord stared in confusion as he unfastened one of his studs, and slide it over to Bliss gently. Tugging with a surprising amount of strength, Bliss grabbed onto it, holding it up to the light. There was a small smile on his face and he waved frantically to Strife.

Waving back, Strife gave him a mischievous grin, “Hey buddy. Remember what I showed you before, with the pins?”

Bliss’s eyes widened and with a positively wicked grin he turned around quick as a flash and stabbed Discord in the exposed part of her thigh. She let go of his arm with a yowl of pain, and the second she did, he disappeared. Already making to track him she froze in place, concentrating, but it was too late. He had already flown back home to Daddy.

Filling with rage, she swerved around to face Strife, who gave her a shit eating grin. “Seems they’re just a baby one minute, and the next they’re gone-”

Wide eyed and senseless Discord lunged at Strife with a roar, tackling him to the ground and knocking the dagger out of his hands. She had always been stronger of the two; Strife usually coasted by on his ability to slip out of trouble. Ah but she had him now, she thought viciously, drawing back a fist and socking him in the face three or four times. He grunted, pushing at her shoulders pitifully and it was with a laugh that she sat up, looking down on him.

“You’re even weaker than you were before Strifey,” she cooed, “The big bad world not so great without precious Uncle Ares to protect you?”

She could tell the second he opened his mouth that he was going to give her lip, so she smacked him with the back of her hand. When she pulled the hand away, there was a jagged line of red across the back, and a match pair streaking over Strife’s face starting at his nose. He looked just as bewildered as she felt. Gods didn’t bleed, sure as hell not from a baby slap like that.

“Are you human?” She licked the back of her hand, spitting it out instantly. “You don’t taste human.”

“I’m not,” he croaked but there was a line of uncertainty in his voice and eyes, which told Discord he didn’t really know what was happening, “Just a little hungry.”

Throwing her head back, she laughed. “Oh this is rich. See, I was already going to beat you into a pulp, but this will make it _much_ more satisfying.”

Taking another swing that well and truly broke his nose, she stared down coldly at this, this  _thing_  that had come out of her. Reaching over him, she grabbed his fallen weapon; a truly wicked looking dagger, and toyed with it between her fingertips. Watching her with the fear of a caged animal, his eyes followed her as she set the point directly over his chest, not so far from where he had been stabbed before.

 “I wonder,” She asked curiously, cocking her head to the side, “If I stab you, will you die again?” She smiled baring her teeth, “Or will it just hurt like a bitch?”

The fear in his eyes was almost more rewarding than hitting him was. He had been a sniveling coward before, but this was something much _much_ better. Something almost human, for all that he said he wasn’t. There was the fear of mortality in his pale blue eyes, the knowledge that he very could well die.

It took him a second to say anything, the blood from his nose and mouth was making it difficult to do anything but spit and cough.

Discord let him take his time, until finally he bared pink stained teeth at her and asked, “How’s Faenus?” 

She made sure to take her time sliding the knife in.

The blade was completely sheathed in his chest when none other than Hercules and Xena came running through the door, the latter screaming like a banshee as she flew through the air and kicked Discord on the head. Discord hit the stone floor hard, and before she could get away Hercules had his arms around her, keeping her tethered. He was wearing that idiotic ‘evil I will vanquish you’ look, and she enjoyed thinking about the way he’d look when she disappeared. Maybe she could even take out his blonde first (that certainly wouldn’t stick) if she was lucky.

 Then out of the corner of her eye she saw the human Iolaus and turned her head. He and the other annoying blonde had Faenus, looking dazed and confused and so very very in love with her. Just like she loved him, oh she would do anything for him.

 “FAENNY,” She cried before she could stop herself, reaching for him.

 “CORDY!” It took the controlled efforts of Iolaus and Gabrielle to restrain him, and she was so proud. In a peak of frustration Gabrielle smashed her boot onto his foot and he howled, falling to the floor.

“If you don’t want us to hurt Faenus, stay down,” Xena hissed, and that’s when Discord knew she was done for.

“Aw fuck,” she sighed, letting her head hit the ground in defeat.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Cordy.” Strife climbed to his feet with a wince and made a gagging noise. “Gonna hurl.”

“You alright?” Xena asked tightly, looking him over with her eyes, and wow that she asked at all really spoke to his change in attitude. Or maybe it was all the blood. Or maybe just the knife in his chest. He waved her off either way, wiping his face with his hand. Last time he had done that, he had been getting kissed. That had been better.

“Sorry we took so long,” and okay Hercules apologizing, that was a big frigging deal. “We had a bit of trouble finding Faenus. She had him chained to a bed. In a dungeon pit. But there were rose petals? Is that a uh, knife in your chest?”

“She was kinda giving off mixed signals there,” Strife agreed with a nod, ignoring the question. He felt a little faint, and blamed that on the, the thing. Knife. There was a knife in his chest. He was bleeding all over the place.

“I’m gonna lay down,” he muttered, sinking to his knees, “Yknow, just for a little bit.”

Leaving Discord in Hercules’s capable hands, Xena hurried over, supporting his back with a gentle touch. Man Strife was really getting sick of people supporting him. At least people who weren’t Cupid. Cupid would be good to have right now.

“You weren’t kidding about that defenseless thing, huh?” she murmured, taking in his even paler than normal appearance, and whole bleeding thing.

Strife shook his head and laughed a little, “Ace said I was directionless? I guess I’m supposed to go find my focus or my center or whatever, I dunno, I've got no idea what the hell that means. Anyway I got no juice.”

“Well,” Xena cocked a thoughtful eyebrow at him, Strife thought it was great how many different types of eyebrow arches she had. “When I needed to do some soul searching, I got myself a Gabrielle. Can you find one of those?”

Strife thought about perfect blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. “Actually I might know where there’s one going.”

“That’s good.” Xena said and she ripped the knife right out of his chest.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I died right here,” Strife pointed out, staring down at the floor.  He was holding a dusty tapestry of Ares at the battle of Athens to the big hole in his chest, and taking a distant pleasure in bleeding all over it. Iolaus was charged with being his ‘look out’ until Cupid turned up from wherever he was. So he was kind of friends with his archenemies now? Life was weird, Strife thought to himself.

Iolaus patted him on the back and nodded, “Yeah you did buddy. I was there. Sorry about that.”

Strife shrugged a shoulder, “I got better. I guess.”

They stared at the floor a little more.

“If a guy kisses you after saying that they sprung you from the underworld because your entire family forgot about you, does that mean they like you?”

Iolaus gave Strife a deer in the headlights look. “W-what?”

“I said if a guy-let’s say a blonde guy with really nice muscles and a tan, kinda like Hercules actually-kisses you after saying they sprung you from-”

“HEY, OKAY, hey,” Iolaus gave Strife a ridiculously wide smile, “I’m gonna…check on Hercules okay? You just, you just wait here for a minute, alright buddy?”

He took off.  Strife screwed his face up in his attempts not to laugh. Alright so that last trick hadn’t done anything for his mischief mojo, but he had forgotten how much fun it was to do mischief for its own sake. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Iolaus, nervously hovering by Herc’s side, laughing a little too loudly at his bad jokes. It served the idiot right for telling everybody that Ares had a sensitive side, that had probably been what pushed him over the edge.

“STRIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

There was a flash of light and a small bundle flew at him, knocking him back on to his ass again with a thud. Bliss wrapped his arms around Strife’s neck and squeezed as tightly as possible. After a moment of shock, Strife hugged him back awkwardly with his one free hand, and when he laughed he was surprised to realize there was no sarcasm or bile in it at all. He was just plain happy to see that the kid was alright. It was a weird moment.

“THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU,” Bliss sang happily, his baby wings vibrating like a hummingbird.

“Glad you’re okay, kid.”

“It’s all thanks to you.” Cupid appeared behind him, and it took all Strife had left in him not to jump. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t look over his shoulder. What he did do, was hug the little scamp tighter, and let him steal all the studs he wanted. It was good self-defense practice apparently.

There was a hand on his shoulder, moving down his back and making him shiver. “Bliss said that you told him stab Discord.”

Bliss nodded furiously in agreement, and Strife croaked out, “Yeah it was only to the leg, and anyway she had it coming.”

He could feel the grin on Cupid’s face as keenly as he felt the warmth on his back when Cupes kneeled down and leaned against him slightly.  “She has a lot of things coming. Later.”

The way Cupid say _later_ went straight to Strife’s dick, and he actually had to shift the cherub on his lap, or risk making everything a million times more awkward. The warm tan hand slid its way back up to his shoulder and over, rubbing his neck lightly. Strife squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his neck to the side ever so. Aw Heph he was getting fucked for sure. That was going to do wonders for his already piss poor reputation.

“There are people behind us,” he tried albeit breathlessly as a thumb rubbed right over his pulse point.

“I’m not interested in them,” Cupid said bluntly-which, okay what the fuck, Strife had never heard him purr like that. “You saved my kid from a psychopath. I’m more interested in that.”

“I’m. I’m holding your frigging kid,” Strife warned, hoping that would stop a dad in his tracks, (and his seriously neglected dick).

 A finger slid under the leather collar of his outfit. “Bliss go play with Uncle Hercules.”

Bliss clambered out of Strife’s lap much to his dismay, and with a loud KAY, Strife’s only means of defense fluttered away. Leaning on his shoulder, encroaching on him like an especially clingy vine, Cupid’s lips brushed up against his cheek. Then his jawline. His neck next. Up close, Cupid had a scent like cinnamon mixed with new steel that made Strife want to shove his face into the crook of Cupid’s neck and taste it. His eyes fluttered shut as that annoyingly personal hand started to peel away at the tapestry he was clutching to his chest.

“How much stuff do you have on,” Cupid murmured, his tongue tracing Strife’s erratic pulse through his neck. Strife’s hand went loose, and he let Cupid push the tapestry down onto the floor. He sighed, letting his head fall back onto Cupid’s chest. He was so tired, and Cupid smelled and felt so fucking nice. The hand moved down his chest happily unblocked at last.

Cupid nipped at his ear, and Strife couldn’t help the soft moan that came out of him if he had tried. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you down there-“

He stopped. More like froze. Strife made a noise of disappointment,t but Cupid just abruptly pushed up and away, leaning all the way over his shoulder. Craning his head so he could look at Strife’s, Cupid’s face was quickly filling with a dawning horror.

“Is that a  _hole_  in your chest?”

Shit.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You,  _stabbed_  him?” Cupid asked Discord incredulously, his wings all a flutter and his face furrowed up with intense disapproval. “You STABBED your SON.”

“He’s not my son,” Discord snapped at the same time Strife said, “She’s not my mom.”

They exchanged a look. It was mostly hatred. Actually it was all hatred. Still, it was shared moment.

“BUT YOU STABBED HIM,” Cupid insisted, like he really wasn’t getting that point. Bliss was wearing a faintly familiar look on his face; his little arms crossed disapprovingly just like his dad.

Strife realized with a start what that look was. It was the ‘I should have stabbed you more when I had the chance’ look. He had worn that one a lot around Hercules during his teen years. Herc was even starting to look a little uncomfortable. Strife could feel himself swelling with pride.  

“Well what about you guys did to me,” Discord protested, still struggling against Herc’s grip. “I GOT MARRIED.” She made lovesick eyes at Faenus who was across the room bound and gagged, “To the world’s most wonderful man.”

Cupid rolled his eyes and stepped forward, “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He wacked her on the head. She blinked, looking around. “That’s it?”

“YOU SEE,” Cupid gesturing wildly with his hands. “WAS THAT WORTH A STABBING?”

Strife shrugged, “Things work differently in War.”

“Like you would know anymore,” Discord sneered going under the belt just like the good old days.  

“Least I didn’t marry a warlord,” he shot back, too exhausted to come up with something clever when being brute force would suffice. It did, she turned green around the edges and kept her head down. Across the room Faenus cried out for her and Gabrielle wacked him with her staff. All that time with Xena was making her really violent.  He caught Xena’s eye across the room,

‘Our babies are growing up’ they thought to themselves.

“I’ve had enough of this, I really have,” Cupid declared, pulling an arrow out of his satchel and fitting it into his crossbow.

“Uh,” Iolaus started, looking nervous, “Didn’t that kind of start this mess?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Cupid assured him archly, bringing the crossbow up in a nice smooth motion and pointing it directly at Discord’s forehead. “This isn’t any ordinary arrow; this was the whole reason I was gone for so long in the first place. I had to get a little help from mom, and Hera.”

Everyone, even Discord perked up at the mere mention of Hera. Queen of all Olympus and extremely jealous wife of Zeus, not even the other gods called on her unless it was for a very, very good reason.  Discord was looking greener by the minute, and this was a woman who would happily trudge through  a man's guts.

“I needed the help,” Cupid continued, the wickedest look dancing through his eyes, “to help me invent a new kind of arrow. I’m excited to try it out on you Discord. You really should have thought twice before fucking with my kid.”

“Hey wait a minute,” Discord had suddenly seen the light of cooperation, “Let’s work this out, yeah?”

“Nope I don’t think so,” Cupid said briskly, and he shot her in the head.

Everyone watched with horror as the arrow went straight through and out the other side, Discord’s head jerking back with the impact. The wound healed almost instantly. Blue sparks traveled the length of her body before vanishing, and she slumped over, breathing heavily. Slowly she lifted her head, and turned to look at Strife of all people, her face slowly filling with horror, and pain, and something else. Something much worse.

 “Oh my god,” She whispered, “Strife, what did I do to you?”

Strife stared blankly back.

 “My poor boy.” It was with horror that he realized her eyes were filling with tears. “My poor, poor son.”

 Hercules let her go, and she stumbled to her feet, staggering to Strife before near collapsing onto him, pulling him into the awkwardest hug of his life, and that was including the one from ten minutes ago. Cupid just watched, satisfied with his punishment, and Xena even looked impressed. Jerks.

“What is this,” Discord choked out, even as she hugged the life out of Strife, “What'd you do to me?”

“That’s maternal love you’re feeling,” Cupid said simply, pulling back his crossbow. “Congratulations, you’re a mom now. By the way it’s permanent. I couldn’t remove it even if I wanted to, which I don’t, and won’t.”

 “Someone get her off me,” Strife hissed urgently, his face turning red as Discord began to sob pitifully, still clutching at him. “NOW.”

They all laughed heartily at his misfortune, but they did give Cupid a wide berth as he scooped up Bliss and walked over. It was probably wise, since clearly you didn’t mess with Cupid or people Cupid cared about, not unless you wanted to be assaulted with uncomfortably heavy feelings.  

Gently untangling Strife from the sobbing goddess, he gave Strife a satisfied look. “Ready to take off?”

“I have a hole in my chest, what do you think?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Is it healing alright?”

Strife looked up from his apparent official spot sprawled out in the pillow pen when Cupid came back from putting Bliss to sleep. It had taken him about an hour; the kid had been literally bouncing off the walls. He looked like he had come back from the wars; his hair was completely messed up and when Cupid absentmindedly brushed his hair back with a palm Strife could feel his shriveled heart grow ten times larger.

 Strife shrugged, “Slowly, but it’s alright. I’m sick of eating ambrosia.”

“Here,” Cupid kneeled in front of him and pushed the hand on his chest away, tugging at his leather bodysuit. “Take this, whatever this is, off.”

The idea of going through his entire outfit, searching out the tiny hidden clasps just so that he could sit shirtless next to the world’s hottest god sounding so unappealing that Strife actually felt faint. He sat back and sighed. A second later all of his clothes were gone. Frantically he pulled a nearby pillow into his lap, glaring at Cupid who looked a little too innocent for it to have been an actual accident. He hated being naked, it was too dangerous a situation for a War related God, especially since he didn’t have Ares’ chest.

“Hold still,” Cupid scolded as he got his hands all up in Strife’s personal space and Strife reacted by squirming. “I’m not Ace, so I dunno if this will work but-”

He concentrated and Strife could feel the wave of energy flowing out of his hands into the hole in Strife’s chest. It felt like, like love. Pure directionless love. It wasn’t what his body needed, and it made him sneeze but he could feel the hole in his chest close up, and the muscles knit themselves back together. Cupid pulled away, eying the new skin with a satisfied look. He kept his hands on Strife’s chest.

“…Thanks,” Strife said after a minute, hoping Cupid would get the hint. 

Instead, Cupid just looking all over him, the slightest tilt to his lips. “You know, I don’t pity you.”

Rolling his eyes, Strife physically moved himself and his pillow away, but Cupid reached out and grabbed his arm.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, looking Strife right in the eye in a way that made him even more uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Moving forward until he was damn near in his lap, Cupid continued with the same intensity. “I know the compatibility of everyone in the world. That’s how I know you’ve changed Strife. Before you died, you and I were at maybe a high 2, and that was only because I liked the way your skinny ass looks in leather, and I appreciate anyone who can pull off those many earrings. I don’t even get out of bed for anything lower than a 7. Psyche was a 9.5 out of 10.”

He started toying with one of Strife’s earrings as he spoke, and Strife knew without a doubt where Bliss got his magpie tendencies from. Swallowing hard, he tried to avert Cupid’s gaze, but the guy’s eyes kept him locked in.

“What are we at now,” he asked before he even knew what his mouth was open.

Cupid smiled at him, a real smile, a completely genuine smile. “Off the charts.”

Shockingly it was skinny, pale, very naked Strife who crossed the gap and kissed him furiously.  Cupid responded in kind instantly, kissing him back with a passion Strife hadn’t ever felt before. Reaching up and running his hands through that perfect hair, messing it up even more than Bliss could ever hope to, gave him more satisfaction than anything else in his life. He tugging at it hard, and might have been worried that Cupid wasn’t into that type of thing, if it wasn’t for the throaty moan Cupid let out and the way he wrapped his arms right around Strife’s back.

Cupid’s wings were so soft, like downy pillows and when Strife brushed up against them accidentally while he flailing, Cupid _purred_ and they fluttered straight out with a gush of wind. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to hold a pillow to his crotch, so there was a sense of relief when Cupid yanked it away, but that relief was replaced with complete fear as Cupid gave him a wicked look and started moving down his body.

Things got a little hazy after that.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

What the fuck was he doing out here?

Strife sat cross-legged, in the shadows because after using up the energy that Cupid had definitely not given him to run away from his problems, he didn’t have a damn thing left to shield or even get back home. Why he had picked the same awful village as before was beyond him, as was the reason why he was hiding outside watching the newly engaged couple giggle and kiss on their way to get water.

So he had sex. It wasn’t for the first time, right? There wasn’t any reason for him to be freaking out, except that Cupid was the god of LOVE and during it he had said he LOVED Strife, who was 5 feet and 10 inches of annoying pale mischief, and he couldn’t even manage the mischief anymore.

Across the street the boy carefully steered his fiancee out of the way of a passing cart, and she smiled in his direction, causing him to blush furiously. Strife would have tripped them if he could. Maybe. Probably not, he was going soft.

What would his life be like if he stayed with Cupid? Babysitting Bliss, playing at being a useless house human until he eventually lost so much of his powers that that was exactly what he became? Hanging around until Cupid lost all respect for him, until he was finally kicked out of Olympus for good?

He couldn’t go back to Ares that much was for sure. Whatever was wrong with him, it wasn’t just from being cut off. Whatever was wrong with him couldn’t be fixed, and without his powers he had absolutely no use to Ares as a god of War. He wasn’t much use to anyone.

The girl reached for the rope, laughing off her fiance as he tried to help. When she found it finally, she started drawing the water slowly but surely, until she successfully held it in her hands. Only then did she reach for him, and they held hands as they walked back home.

Watching them was sickening and Strife didn’t even know why he had bothered to come in the first place. He was about to leave-to drink, or start a fight, or anything that would stop him thinking about his wreck of a life, when he noticed the farmer ex-fiance pushing his way through the crowd directly towards the girl. Oh boy, that looked like it would go well.

The girl actually noticed him first, maybe she recognized the stench of putrid breath, or maybe she had memorized the sound of his charge, but either way her head snapped up unerringly in his direction. Noticing him just a second too late, her boy valiantly moved to stand directly in front of his clueless girlfriend, and was knocked away within a second.

The girl had some idea what was going on, so the fist to her face didn’t seem like much of a shock. Still, she went down hard, spilling her hard won bucket of water across the ground. Her fiance jumped to his feet, and tackled the farmer. He had more courage than he had the night of the fire, Strife mused, moving forward to watch the farmer physically throw the boy into a cart of melons. They scattered everywhere, rolling over to where the girl was lying, feeling around for anything familiar.

With a roar the farmer grabbed at her, pulling her to her feet only to slap her back down to the ground. Strife moved up swiftly, his dagger already in hand. He wasn’t sure if he had enough left in him to win a fight against a mortal that big, but he figured he could take something off in the process. Before he could get in there, the boy was bouncing back, blood running down a deep cut in his head. He jumped-

-and, in the light of noon, something metal flashed-

-the farmer was already moving, his arm slashing out in front of him in a great arch-

-the boy stumbled backwards, falling to his knees with a thud. He clutched at his stomach, blood already streaming down onto the ground. The girl cried out for him, hearing his grunt of pain. The farmer stood with his legs apart, breathing heavily, the bloody knife still clasped tightly in his fist.

Strife should be moving now, he knew. Every instinct was telling him that the farmer would go down, he’d never expect it. He could even afford to be vicious, going for something painful like the throat, so the girl could at least hear her love’s murderer bleed out. Instead, he was frozen in place, watching the girl’s face changed as she felt out, fingertips tentatively touching the spreading pool of warm blood.

Her face crumpled, and she cried out her lover’s name, feeling around for his hand.

He reached out to her, before he lost all strength and his arm fell limply.

All of Cupid’s work, all of their work, wasted, completely wasted.

Strife couldn't believe it.

Before he knew it, he was throwing the dagger in his hands to the girl, and she could hear the sound of it hitting the ground.

“Pick it up,” he said, dimly wondering whose voice this was, where this deep commanding order was coming from.

Her features hardened, but she didn’t move.   

“Pick it up,” He insisted, and with a flash, he was _showing_ her where the knife was, for a minute _she could see._

She picked the knife up. She pushed herself onto her feet. She turned her head and saw her lover, dead. She saw the farmer still in shock, still looking at his bloody knife, and his bloody hands that had taken her life away more than once. She saw Strife standing there, and he smiled at her with his teeth flashing, a strange rush building inside of him.

“Get your revenge,” he said, and she nodded.

Moving forward confidently, she thrust the dagger right into his stomach, and what’s more she twisted it, watching him fall to the floor. She didn’t need an arrow to see vengeance done. She didn’t look away once. Ignoring the shocked gasps of the crowd, she walked back her to fiance’s side, turning him over tenderly so she could cradle his face in her lap. It was the first time she had ever seen it.

Strife could feel the energy that had been building up inside of him burst out, and then it was gone. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. Making a fist he could still feel the tiniest sparks dancing inside of him. It was back; whatever had happened had brought his energy back.

The second Strife collapsed, the girl’s eyesight left her, so she touched her beloved's face mournfully, and at last the tears came. Crawling over to her side, Strife touched her cheek gently with the tips of his fingers, and she flinched, but relaxed a second later. Somehow, she knew who he was.

“It’ll be okay,” Strife said, and what’s more he meant it. “You did me a favor, so I’ll do you one.”

It didn’t take longer after he called for Cupid for the guy to come, although he looked a little sulky, like he didn’t see why he had bothered to come after a guy who had banged and ditched him so effectively. Then he saw the scene surrounding him and his eyes widened.

“I need ambrosia,” Strife said hastily, “I don’t think I have enough power to get it myself yet.”

Cupid did as he was asked. Slipping the smallest piece of ambrosia they could manage into the guy’s mouth-he just wanted him to live, the last thing Olympus needed was this chump as a god, Strife held his breath. They all held their breath, waiting for a sign.

After a few seconds too many, when the girl’s face started to crumple again, and Strife was ready to go down to the underworld and kick this guy’s ass into gear, the guy groaned, opening his eyes. He stared up at his fiancée and smiled, reaching up to stroke her cheek. With a near sob she grabbed at him, kissing all over his face.

Strife stepped back and wrinkled his nose against the sneeze. “I’m never gonna get used to that.”

“I think it’s cute.” Cupid wrapped a big gay arm around him like he thought Strife wouldn’t notice, shielding them from the astonished villagers. “Are you going to tell me what just happened?”

“Me and the girl took care of a problem that's all,” Strife grinned fiercely, “and I got my power back.”

“REALLY?” Cupid asked incredulously, “Well why didn’t you say, I mean, that’s great!”

“I’m not the God of Mischief anymore,” Strife said, interrupting Cupe’s confused rambling with a small smile, “You were right, I have changed.”

Cupid wasn’t following him, and Strife’s grin grew to shit-eating proportions. “I felt it, when the girl got mad, I could feel it inside me, this urge to help her.” He tapped at his chest. “Retribution. I helped her get Retribution.”

The Goddess (or y’know God apparently) of Retribution and Vengeance, punisher of hubris against the Gods and wrong deeds, it was like a promotion. This was an _important_ gig, one that would keep him busy; he’d be someone that even Ares wanted to stay on the good side off. All the gods would want him helping out, Hera especially, he knew. Hell, if he wanted he could even just work with Cupid. Punishing hubris had never been his thing, and he figured that if that was the kind of god he was supposed to be, his body wouldn’t have chosen it.

He could see Cupid’s mind running along the same lines, and at the same time they blurted out, “Nemesis is going to be pissed.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“So I hope you’ll reconsider my offer, and rejoin the House of War,” Ares said stiffly, hands clenching his throne. “Considering Revenge has always fallen under War.”

Strife looked down and inspected his own nails, a classic blow off move he had stolen from Dite. They could probably use a good clean sometime. When he looked up, Ares’ left eye was twitching uncontrollably, but he didn’t scream, and he didn’t punch Strife across the room.

Strife shrugged, “Yeah I’ll think about it, Unc.”

Ares’ eyes widened with that classic rage look, and he leaned forward like he was planning on slapping Strife upside the head, but Strife just laughed and disappeared with a wave.

“You know you’re gonna have to say yes eventually,” Cupid said dryly, as Strife pulled him in with an elbow for a messy smack on the cheek.

“Sure I’ll say yes,” Strife reached down to ruffle Bliss’s wing feathers, and he was already learning how to smack his hand away and steal a couple pins off in the process, what a smart kid he was. “Later. After I get him to agree that I can stay here and bang his son on a regular basis, of course.”

 “Course,” Cupid agreed with a smile and lowered eyelids, running his hand through Strife’s ratty hair, “and how regular are we talking, here?”

“Oh daily,” Strife said with a grin, moving in for a kiss.

“Daily?” Cupid pulled away and made a ‘are you for real’ face. “Try hourly.”

“Oh yeah? Starting when?”

“I’m not doing anything at the moment.”

“Bliss,” Strife breathed distractedly, as a pair of big tan hands came up to rub at his shoulders, and already came the sounds of hidden clasps being unlocked and tugged out, “Go play with uncle Hercules.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like 30 years late to this ship whoops.
> 
> Thanks for staying with me till the end. It was hard to write for a pairing that has been pretty much dead for years, especially when I realized there was no one around to beta for me. So sorry for any mistakes, they're all mine. Still, I'm happy I plucked up the courage to publish this! I had worked hard on it.
> 
> If you're curious where the title came from, it was Always Gold by Radical Face, because that was basically the entire inspiration for this fic.
> 
> We were opposites at birth  
> I was steady as a hammer  
> No one worried 'cause they knew just where I'd be  
> And they said you were the crooked kind  
> And that you'd never have no worth  
> But you were always gold to me


End file.
